Cold as Ice
by Flagg1991
Summary: Sequel to "Dark as Night." Lincoln and Lucy take their relationship to the next level, while a mysterious drifter grants two of the Loud girls their deepest desire...at a cost. Cover by Raganoxer.
1. Time Together

Lincoln liked when Lucy wore her hair up; the way her bangs still hung in her eyes despite it was cute. She knew this, and would do it once or twice a week even though she personally preferred her hair down. On Monday it would be a ponytail, and on Friday it might be pigtails. Every time he caught sight of her like that, her face burning red with embarrassment, his breath would catch and he'd smile. Their sisters teased her about it, because that's what sisters do, and that made her self-conscious, but she did it anyway, and Lincoln loved her all the more for it. To be fair, she never left the house with her hair up, but, hey, it's a process. Rome wasn't built in a day...and neither was Akron, Ohio, for that matter.

That Sunday morning it was a simple ponytail held in place by a black scrunchie with a little skull emblem on it. They were sitting on Lincoln's bed in their pajamas, hers consisting of a white T-shirt and black and white striped leggings and his a simple orange top and bottom set that was starting to get just a _littttle_ small. In his hands was an Ace Savvy comic, in hers was a slim paperback book with the rotting face of a ghoul on the cover. Lincoln leaned against his pillow and turned the page with a crisp sound. At the foot of the bed, Lucy did likewise.

Lincoln relished moments in the company of his sister. They didn't need to touch, or speak, or even acknowledge that the other was there...being together in comfortable silence was enough. Lincoln imagined that this is what old married couples must feel after forty or fifty years...sort of a...mutual understanding of one another and of one another's love. Newlyweds touch and kiss incessantly to show affection; old couples bask in the lingering afterglow of those early kisses, sustained by years and years of touches, sighs, and declarations of love to the point that nary a word need be said. Granted, he and Lucy had only been...uh...together...for a little over a month, but theirs was a different case: As siblings, their romantic love rested on the immovable bedrock of family love. It was like moving into a fully furnished home versus building one with your bare hands (uphill...in the snow...). They weren't exactly like an old married couple, but they weren't exactly like newlyweds, either. They were both...and neither. They liked to touch and kiss...but they also liked to just _be together_ , her following her passions, him following his.

"Something just occurred to me," Lucy said, breaking the tranquility. Lincoln glanced up. She was still staring down at her book.

"What?" he asked.

"Zombies...you kill them by destroying the brain."

Lincoln lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"Doesn't decomposition destroy the brain?"

Lincoln shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"And what about bugs? You know their heads have to be infested with bugs slowly eating away their gray matter."

Lincoln's nose crinkled at the image of carrion insects ripping and rending soft, pulpy brains in their sharp mandibles.

"And what happens when they rot so much that their brain isn't even connected to anything and it's just sitting there?"

"I don't know," Lincoln said, another image popping into his head: Drippy, melted brains sloshing in a shattered skull like sludge. _Maybe I'm spending a little_ too _much time around Lucy,_ he thought. "Zombies don't make sense."

"Neither do vampires."

Ice dropped into Lincoln's stomach. In his mind, he saw the _thing_ climbing through the kitchen window, its eyes glowing and fangs hanging over its bluish lower lip. A shiver raced down his spine and his hand crept instinctively to the rosary he now wore at all times. _Didja find God, Linc?_ Lynn asked. _Makes sense,_ Luan laughed (she blacked out and forgot that a vampire broke into the house...lucky bitch), _he_ does _like being on his knees._ Lori simply called him Father Twerp.

"A lot of things don't make sense," he said evenly.

She shrugged. He was right. Sitting her book in her lap, she turned to face him, shivering at the alien feeling of her ponytail wagging behind her. Why Lincoln liked her hair up, she would never know, but whatever. "Are you hungry?"

He started to say no, but now that she mentioned it, he kind of was; he was in such a rush to spend a quiet morning with her that the thought of going downstairs never even crossed his mind. "I could eat," he said.

"Me too," she said, and tossed her book aside. He closed his comic and laid it neatly on the nightstand. A ghost of a smile touched her face and she leaned over. He met her half-way, and their lips brushed faintly together, their breaths mingling. Her bangs parted just enough for him to catch a fleeting glimpse of clear, crystalline eyes, and his heart pounded. She grew more and more beautiful with each passing day.

They kissed then, their tongues meeting and moving coyly together. Lincoln cupped his hand around the back of her smooth, slender neck, and she trembled. When she drew back, her lips were pink and she was smiling. "That never gets old."

Lincoln grinned. No, it didn't. Though he'd given her a thousand kisses over the past month, each time was just as electrifying as the first. He grinned goofily and brushed her hair out of her face. Looking into her naked eyes, he said, "I love you."

She grinned. "I love you too. Now come on."

Holding his hand, she led him downstairs, releasing him when they reached the dining room threshold: Their sisters were clustered at the table.

Lincoln was not stupid, he knew what was coming.

Currently, though, they were focusing on Lynn.

"She just _loves_ catching balls to the face," Lori said, and bit into a dry piece of toast.

Everyone laughed except for Lynn, who shook her head and inhaled deeply through her nose; her lips were a bloodless slash.

"Her proclivity for promiscuously performing oral sex on her male peers is well-known even in the elementary grades," Lisa said. "In layman's terms: Everyone knows she's a slut."

Luan threw her head back and held her stomach. Lola laughed mean-spitredly through clenched teeth, her shoulders shaking. Luna snickered into her hand. Lynn trembled. "I'm not a slut," she growled.

"I heard she sucked some dude off because she needed protein before the big game," Lana said.

Luan threw herself back, and her chair tipped: Her eyes went wide as it crashed to the floor. Lynn bent over. "Serves you right, bitch!"

Everyone was howling with laughter. "LOL!" Leni said. "Lynn has VD!"

Lincoln poured himself a bowl of Capt'N'Crunch and topped it with milk. He handed the jug to Lucy, and she poured a slug into her own cereal. "I'm not going out there," she said, sticking her spoon into the bowl and bringing it up; milk dripped from the smooth underside. Lincoln glanced over his shoulder. Lynn's face was beet red and he imagined he saw a little curl of smoke rising from the top of her head. Next to her, Luan had gotten back into her chair.

"Have a nice fall, chuckles?" Lori asked.

"Lana's joke blew her away," Lola piped, "which is what happens when you hear _real_ humor, sweetie."

"The only thing Luan's ever blown away was that creepy kid in the fifth grade," Luna said. "What was his name? The one who walked around with a boner every day?"

"Tommy Harper," Lori said. "His brother was a senior when I was a freshman. Luan blew him away, did she?"

"No!" Luan cried.

"She blew him every day at lunch."

"Neither am I," Lincoln said. "I could do without being roasted." He bent over his bowl and started eating.

Next to him, Lucy swallowed. "It's probably going to happen anyway." She craned her neck and looked past him. "When they spit Luan out."

"I have a joke," Lana said. "You!"

Luan and Lynn had switched places: The former seethed while the latter slapped her knee. "You hear that, Carrot Top?" Lynn asked, shoving her grinning face into her sister's. " _You're the joke! Get it?"_

"I, like, get it!" Leni said. "She's the joke because she looks like a beaver and she's not funny!"

Luan pushed away from the table. "Screw you guys!"

"You know a beaver's favorite thing to put in its mouth, right?" Luna called after her sister as she stormed away. "Wood!"

Lincoln shook his head. Goddamn. Picking on your siblings could be fun now and then, but these girls took it too far.

"Any time now," Lucy said, and Lincoln looked at her.

"Any time for wha...?"

He was cut off by Lori's singsong voice. "Oh, Lincy..."

His heart dropped. Sigh.

"What are you and Lucy doing in there?"

Lincoln turned and his eyes locked with Lynn's. "They're doing it," she said with a shark-like smile. "Or he's trying, but it's so small it keeps slipping out."

Lincoln looked down at his bowl and flipped her off. Lucy bowed her head and blushed.

"Could you imagine them actually _doing_ it?" Luna asked, and shuddered. "Their flat chests rubbing together like two pieces of white bread..."

"Lincoln's cowlick bobbing with every clumsy thrust of his hips," Lisa added.

"Lucy just lying there like a corpse," Lola put in.

"Smelling like one, too," Lana winced.

Heat touched Lincoln's face. You know...he didn't mind it too much when they picked on him, but he didn't like it when they picked on Lucy. His fist tightened around the spoon and he took a deep breath; the nails of his free hand unconsciously dug into the countertop. It hurt him more than it did Lucy, but still...

"Whose name would she cry out as she came?" Lori asked. "Satan?"

"Cthulhu," Lisa offered.

"George Bush?" Lola asked.

"No," Lana said, "Bill Clinton."

"Uhhh...I'm pretty sure she wouldn't cum because Lincy's dick is too small," Leni said. "Remember?"

Lincoln squared his shoulders.

"Hey," Lucy said, laying her hand on his. He turned, and his anger melted in the face of her warm smile. "Ignore them. If you don't react they'll move onto someone else."

She was right. And it happened sooner than either one could have expected.

"Lot of small things in this family," Lori said, "Lincoln's dick...Leni's brain."

Leni gasped. "My brain is _not_ small."

"Speaking of small things," Lana said, "are those pimples or breasts, Lori?"

"Shut up!"

Lincoln hurriedly finished his cereal and took the bowl over to the sink. Lucy came over and did likewise. "So," she said, "do you want to do something today?"

Lincoln cocked his head. "Like what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but I don't feel like being cooped up in the house with Saturday Night Live out there."

A grin crossed Lincoln's face. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," Lincoln said innocently. "I'd love to. Under one condition."

She crossed her arms.

"Keep your hair up?"

She sighed and bowed her head. "I guess we could always hang out in the vents..."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Lucy's wearing her hair in a ponytail in this chapter was inspired by a piece of fan art on DeviantArt called "A Break From the Darkness" by someone CoyoteRom. It depicts Lucy sitting on her bed and reading one of those pony princess books and she's wearing a ponytail, which, I think, it a good look on her. Kind of breaks up the monotony. I stumbled across it when I typed LOLA LOUD into Google Images; I needed to see if she wore eyeliner by default (she does not – I guess that detail escaped me). I wound up browsing through pictures because sometimes I like to procrastinate. If it's not pictures it's Facebook, or Youtube, or some damn thing. The internet is a black hole and it's** _ **very**_ **easy to fall in.**


	2. What the Heart Desires

_**Some people say I'm only out at night**_

 _ **Maybe those folks might of got it right  
**_

 _ **And some people say I drive a Cadillac car  
**_

 _ **Or sell my wares hauntin' hotel bars**_

 **-AC/DC**

* * *

The Man With No Name lay under an overpass next to a river that looked like dirty dishwater; gnarled vines grew along its banks and empty beer cans, cigarette butts, syringes, and used condoms were scattered across the frozen ground like the debris of a fallen world. Which, when you got right down to it, it was.

A bed roll was under his neck and his legs were crossed. His heavy trench coat rattled with a thousand trinkets each time he moved. Potions, pills, amulets...a flavor for every taste, a cure for every ailment. His stock magically rotated, and he always seemed to have what you needed.

It was bitterly cold that day, but he did not feel it. He had not slept in...how long?...but he did not feel tired either. Things like weariness, hunger, and pain were foreign concepts to him. At least he thought they were. He couldn't remember very far back; his earliest memory was of striding down the center of a no name highway in Kansas, the moon full above and the wind blowing through the corn like the whispering of a thousand phantoms. Everything before that was darkness punctuated by the occasional recollection looming forward like a strange, indistinct shape from dense fog: A woman with white hair and a desert sunset, a man with six-guns the size of cannons, a nuclear holocaust, cultists and the FBI.

Since coming awake way back in Kansas, he had walked a thousand miles...and not all of them in the same world. Sometimes he had money in his pocket that was green and bore the portraits of dead presidents...sometimes he had money in his pockets that was red and white and bore the portrait of a long dead dictator. Sometimes the radio he carried in his worn green knapsack said things that didn't make sense. A disc jockey on a Memphis station played a single by a one hit wonder group called The Beatles, and a news program in Des Moines mentioned the passing of a former president named Al Gore.

Today he was in a town called Royal Woods. He blew in last night on the railroad tracks, which he had been following since Detroit. Strange name for a town, he thought; sounded more like a subdivision where old people drove around in golf carts and broke their hips getting out of bed. What world was it? Who was the president? Who won The Second World War?

Eh. It didn't really matter. People are the same wherever you go: They always want something. In fact, he could feel someone wanting something now...

Ah, there it is, the crunch of approaching footsteps in the gravel. The Man With No Name sat up and watched as a homeless man in dirty clothes appeared. He stopped, regarded him with a wary expression, and seemed to consider turning away. The Man With No Name flashed a wide, cannibal smile.

"Hey, man," the hobo said, "d-do you have a cigarette?"

The Man With No Name chuckled darkly – it was the kind of chuckle that killed birds mid-flight, sent pacemakers bursting in chests, and popped the cherries of pious nuns. Fear crossed the hobo's face. "Those things are bad for you," The Man said, reaching inside his tattered overcoat. His face was cast in shadows under the brim of his fedora.

The hobo licked his lips. "E-Everything's bad for you."

"That is true," The Man said. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and flipped the top open. The hobo hesitated, but came forward, his _need_ winning out...as it always did. The Man held the pack out, and the hobo took one. "Those Marlboros?" he asked.

The Man didn't know. He looked at the pack. "Morley's."

"Never heard of them," the hobo said, pulling a lighter from the pocket of his hoodie and lighting his smoke.

The Man shrugged one shoulder. "Neither have I."

The hobo took a drag and let the smoke out slowly. "You new here?"

The Man spread his hands and smiled. "Just passing through."

"Lucky you," the hobo said. "This place is a dump."

The Man looked at the concrete wall to his left. Graffito covered it. Gang signs, floppy penises, the names of a dozen nobodies, this one loves that one, this one loves dick. Dumpster writing, the voice of the people. He chuckled. Who said that? Was it Plato?

"Looks like it," he finally said.

"I worked for the city for _ten_ years," the hobo said, "paid my taxes and everything...now look at me."

They always had a sob story. They were always misunderstood, done wrong – they were never meth addicts or losers. No siree.

"It kind of..." the hobo coughed into his hand, "...makes you hate America. You know? You give and give and give and the moment you slip just a _little_ bit –" he coughed again, hacking deeply. The Man's smile widened. He drew his knees up to his chest and watched the hobo bend at the waist.

When the hobo stood up straight, her looked quizzically at his hand. It was covered in rich, red blood. "Jesus...what the hell's in this thing?"

The Man chuckled. "Carbon monoxide," he said, holding up a finger, "tar," he held up another finger, "arsenic," another finger, "DDT," another finger, "and cyanide." He held up five fingers and wiggled them. "Told you they were bad for you."

The hobo was coughing again, blood shooting from his mouth. With a strangled gurgle, he pitched over and fell face-first into the gravel, his body twitching. The Man threw back his head and laughed, an evil sound full of bomb-blasts, crying children, and crackling fire. "I've never seen cancer move _that_ fast," he said. He shook his head. People always want something, but you know what? When they get it, they're just never happy. Take that old man in The Monkey's Paw. He wanted his son back from the dead, yet when his son knocked on the door in the dead of night, he suddenly didn't want him anymore. Tsk, tsk, tsk. The great sin of human beings is that they can't make up their goddamn minds.

Getting to his feet, The Man walked over to the body and looked down at it. Standing, he was over six-feet tall with shoulders as broad as the face of a barn. A lot of people never saw him, though. Got to be good looking 'cause he's so hard to see. I know you, you know me. You want it, I got it. The Man With No Name Medicine Show, traveling from town-to-town with needful things...things you think you want...but don't.

Laughing, he turned around, grabbed his bedroll, and climbed the embankment to the street, leaving the hobo with his cigarette. In a town like this, there's bound to be lots of wants and needs, and The Man With No Name was happy to meet them.

* * *

Luna Loud sat cross-legged on her bed, her arms wrapped around her chest and her stomach rippling with the pangs of unrequited love.

 _I'm a total pussy,_ she thought as she unconsciously rocked back and forth.

How long had she loved Sam? How long had she yearned to take her hand and spill out her heart and her soul? And how long had she been so scared of doing so that she trembled at the mere thought? She didn't know, but it felt like years. Every time she worked up the confidence to tell her, she found herself stumbling and shaking like a little girl...every time she walked up to her in the hall at school, intending to declare her love, she chickened out and ran away with her tail between her legs.

She couldn't help it, though. She was scared shitless. What if Sam rejected her? What if Sam thought she was gross and weird and didn't want her around anymore? That thought terrified Luna, because Sam meant everything to her, and if the only way she could have her was from afar, well...that was better than nothing, right?

Pausing, she bent and scooped her phone off the bed. She opened her text messages and reread her most recent exchange with her beloved.

Luna: Heyy, wanna hang today?

Sam: Sure. Your place or mine?

Luna: Yours is cool.

She sent the first text with the intention of making today _the_ day, but even as she built herself up to it, the foundation of her resolve crumbled like sand. She wouldn't do it. She knew that deep down. She wasn't brave enough...or strong enough...or...or anything else. She was a pussy.

Sighing, she got up, grabbed her phone, and slipped it into the pocket of her skirt. In the hall, she found Lucy waiting for the bathroom, her arms crossed. She was wearing her normal black blouse and leggings. Her hair was still up, and her eyes still covered by her bangs. Why she suddenly wore a ponytail (or, ugh, pigtails) was beyond Luna. She wondered, not for the first time, about her relationship with Lincoln. They were a little chummy lately, especially after that pedo guy next door kidnapped Lucy and Lincoln rescued her. She wasn't the only one who said so. It wasn't a coincidence that they picked on them about having sex this morning. If so, whatever, it wasn't her business. She had plenty of her own worries.

Falling in line behind her, Luna drew a deep breath. _Could_ she do it? She pictured herself confessing her love to Sam, but she didn't dare imagine Sam's reaction. It would either be the best thing in the world...or the worst. There was no middle ground.

Lynn came out of the bathroom, ducked around Lucy like she was an opposing lineman, and dove forward, her hands up to catch an imaginary ball. She landed hard on the floor and the air rushed out of her.

"Not very smart, brah," Luna said.

Lynn got up and dusted herself off. "Sometimes you gotta break a few eggs."

"You're gonna break your neck like that guy who played Superman."

"Pfft," Lynn said, waving her hand, "I'm a professional."

"Right," Luna said, turning away and diving back into her thoughts.

As she went down the stairs, Lynn sighed. She was fast and she was tough...but she was neither as fast nor as tough as she wanted to be. That little dive she did hurt like hell...her hip was even now screaming out in pain; it took everything she had not to limp and hiss through her teeth. In football, and other contact sports, you have to be tough as nails and stronger than everyone else.

And Lynn Loud was _not_ stronger than everyone else, no matter what her sisters or brother thought. Did they think she trained for fun? No, she trained because she wanted to get better...and that wasn't happening.

Outside, she snatched a football from the front porch and bounded down the stairs. Her bike was parked in the garage, leaned against Dad's work bench. Not long ago this bike belonged to Lincoln, and while she knew he didn't choose the pink color scheme, she couldn't help but think of it as _his_ paintjob. She would get around to changing it...one day. For now, though, it was girly, but, hey, it was a sick bike and everyone knew it, so whatever.

Dropping her ball into the wicker basket, she climbed on and pushed off with one foot. When she was mobile, she rode to the bottom of the driveway and hung a left onto the sidewalk, swinging around a teenage boy with baggy pants and a heavy sweater. The air was cold against her face as she pedaled, her ponytail streaming behind her like a flag. At the end of the street, she waited for a truck, then crossed. Rosedale Park was up ahead: She could see the stately pines rising above the houses along Park Place. How come pine trees didn't completely shed in the winter, anyway? Were they like a super tree or something? She imagined a pine tree in red-and-blue tights, its hands on its hips in a heroic pose, and smiled despite herself. _Here I come to save the_ daaaaaay! Who would his archenemy be? Dr. Pollution? The Evil Lumberjack? Franky the Firebug? Now _there's_ a comic she would read.

The park sloped away from the sidewalk. Lynn rode down the embankment and pedaled past the playground, where a few kids played on the platform, one hanging from the monkey bars and another standing at the mouth of the slide, hesitantly deciding whether to go down or not.

Lynn threw a glance around, and was mildly disappointed to see that none of the girls from school were around. More often than not, you could find them playing ball of some kind. Today, however, the field stretching from the playground to the river (what was it...a mile?) was completely empty. Oh well. She slowed, hopped off the bike, and walked it to a tree. She leaned it against the gnarled trunk and grabbed her ball.

Time to train.

Time to get faster...and stronger.

* * *

 _Will it hurt?_ she wondered. She was sitting Indian style on her bed, a notebook in her lap and the end of a pen pressed contemplatively to her chin. _Of course it will, but in a good way_. Lucy personally did not cut herself, but she understood why people do, as cutting releases endorphins in the brain, and endorphins provide a rush (maybe that's why zombies like brains so much...). Would the pain of her hymen tearing release endorphins?

She blushed furiously at the bluntness of her own mind. She was a poet...and the first rule of poetry is _never_ use technical terms. Say...hm... 'the veil of her virginity' or...hell _anything_ but what Lisa would call it. When it came to sex, though, she found it hard to beat around the bush (heh) because...well...she took it pretty seriously. Since she and Lincoln began...whatever you want to call it...she had entertained the idea of lying herself upon his altar (I gotta write that down...) many times. She was not as interested in the physical act itself (though sometimes she _did_ feel a little bit of a tingle down there). She was more interested in the _spiritual_ aspect. You could say she didn't want to have sex, she wanted to make love, she wanted to be joined in union to Lincoln and become one with him: One body, one spirit, and one heartbeat. That thought always brought a tiny smile to her lips.

In the books she read, sex was always such a romantic thing. Not romantic as in candles and rose petals (none of her favorite authors from Stephen King to John Saul ever wrote a scene like that...at least not one that she had read), but romantic as in idealized. It wasn't the slapping of flesh or the thrusting of hips that drew her attention, at least not entirely, it was the wedding of hearts, the intimacy, the thought of being as close in every way you can be to the person you love.

Lucy wanted that with Lincoln. Very badly. A few things were stopping her, however. For one, she was honestly afraid of that initial thrust, of being parted and of having the veil of her virginity ripped like the altar cloth on the death of Christ. She'd read that a girl's first time was supposed to hurt, and that she was supposed to bleed. Pain and blood did not bother Lucy, per se, but hurting and bleeding during such a holy moment seemed like sacrilege. She might as well release her bowels when he entered her. For another thing, they had only been together for a month. That seemed kind of...soon. Would she look like a slut if she brought it up, or made a move? She did _not_ want to look like a slut.

Lastly, and at the bottom of the list, was getting in trouble. She was fairly certain they could pull it off late at night, but there was always the chance Lynn would wake up, see she wasn't in bed, and get nosey. A small chance, but when you're doing something as taboo as what she and Lincoln would be doing, even the smallest of chances is pretty big.

Tapping the pen against her chin, Lucy tried to come up with a rhyme for "smoldering lust" but couldn't. Dust. Must. Cussed. Rust. Bust. What about 'smoldering'? Was there even a word that rhymed with that? Shouldering...that was a word, right? 'She was shouldering her way through the crowd.' Yeah, that sounded right. So...shouldering rust? Shouldering must?

It hit her.

Shouldering thrust! To thrust shoulder first. She smiled. Good job, Luce. She jotted that down in the margin and read what she had:

 _Each night, awake in the dark_

 _I yearn for your touch_

 _Like a flickering spark_

 _My spirit's smoldering lust_

Longs for your spirit's shouldering thrust.

That sounded kind of stupid, though. She tapped the pen against her lips. She didn't want the poem to come across as overly sexual; she wanted it to be about longing for her spirit to be one with his. Did that show through? She didn't know, but once you start rhyming 'lust' with 'thrust' you send the wrong signals. Sigh. She tore the paper out, crumpled it up, and threw it into the wastebasket next to her bed. Hm. It was starting to get full.

She poised the tip of her pen over a fresh sheet and tried to come up with something better. _Okay. You want to write about the coming together of two hearts and two souls. That's your theme. Use language that fits your theme._

Okay. Language that fits my theme. Hmmm. An image came to mind: Two smoke-like spirits curling around one another until they were literally one.

The words just wouldn't come, though.

Sighing with frustration, she tossed her notebook aside and crossed her arms. How come she could write about skeletons and demons – things that were far, far away from her – but she couldn't write about something so dearly _close?_

She didn't know, but it was irritating. Every time she tried to write about Lincoln, she smashed into a brick wall and burst into flames. Why couldn't she write about the man she loved?

Ugh.

 _Would it hurt?_ she thought _or would it hurt so good, like the song?_

Her idea of a first time didn't involve blood and a burning, ripping sensation between her legs, but how did the song go? _Sometimes love don't feel like it should?_

She glanced at the wastebasket. It was starting to get full. Maybe she should take it out.

 _Procrastinate, much?_

Oh, shut up.

She grabbed the wastebasket and started for the kitchen. _I'll work on my poem later...and think of my veil being ripped asunder too...I just need a break right now._


	3. I've Got What You Need

Luna Loud was halfway to Sam's house when the shakes set in. Her heart raced and her stomach quivered like a plate of jelly. She always felt this way when she knew she was going to see her, but today it was extra bad.

She was in the middle of downtown Royal Woods. Quaint shops lined the sidewalk on one side, while the town square butted up against it on the other. A statue of Erick Andersen, the founder of Royal Woods, dominated the grassy space. Beyond was the county courthouse, with its arched roof, narrow windows, and marble columns. An American flag atop a steel pole flapped limply in the breeze. People rushed up and down the sidewalks, their hands shoved into the pockets of their flannel coats and their heads bent against the biting wind. Luna, for her part, did not feel it, for she was hot with nerves.

Her stomach rolled, and she didn't know if she could make it the rest of the way. She left the sidewalk, crossed through the grass, and sat heavily on a bench. She propped her elbows on her knees, rested her cheeks in her palms, and drew a deep breath. If Sam was a boy and Luna was straight, she didn't think she would be as nervous, because, hey, there would be more of a chance that Sam the Man would like her, right? But the chances of Sam the Girl liking Luna the Girl were much, much smaller.

 _Why'd I have to fall in love with a girl?_ Luna asked herself.

When someone spoke next to her, she jumped. "Lot on your mind, huh?"

Heart in throat, she turned to see a big man in a trench coat and a fedora which cast his face in shadows. One tree-trunk sized arm was draped over the back of the bench and he was looking at her, his toothy smile wide and gleaming.

A cold shudder ran down Luna's spine. Her brain tingled, too, as if it were being explored by phantom fingers.

"Yeah," she found herself saying despite the fear blossoming in her chest.

The man lifted a cigarette to his mouth and inhaled. He let the smoke out slowly, grandly. "Let me guess. It's a matter of the heart."

Luna shuddered. Was it colder? It felt much, much colder.

"Yeah," she said. Strangely, she found herself wanting to open up to the man.

"Want one?" he asked, holding out a pack of cigarettes. "They calm the nerves."

Luna looked at the pack, then up to the man. "Go on," he said, his cannibal smile widening, "they won't bite."

She nodded and slipped one from the pack. He held up a lighter and flicked it; she leaned into the flame and drew the smoke into her lungs. She didn't smoke cigarettes very often, but she smoked them frequently enough that she didn't cough.

The man faced away from Luna and spread his arms out along the back of the bench. Luna took a drag and bent at the waist, focusing on her boots. For some reason she could not name, she was afraid to look into the man's face...because she might see Hell.

 _That_ was a strange thought.

"What's his name?" the man asked.

"I-It's a girl," Luna said, unable to stop herself, "her name's Sam."

"Ah," the man said, "is she...?"

"I don't know," Luna said. "That's the problem."

"You know what they say about women, right?"

Luna took a drag. "What?"

"They're like spaghetti: Both are straight until they get wet."

Luna choked on the smoke. That was actually kind of funny.

Not funny enough to lift her mood. "I don't know. I really like her and I'm afraid she'll hate me if I tell her."

The man shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe. That's the risk you run when it comes to love. Of course...they are ways to...win a woman's heart."

Luna glanced at him, making sure not to look into his face. "Like?"

The man shifted as he reached into his coat. When he pulled his hand out, he held it under Luna's face, the palm open and flat. In it was a silver necklace bearing a heart pendent. Luna's brow furrowed. The heart was trimmed with silver. It was red and sparkled.

"It's a ruby," the man said, "and when your girl puts it on, her heart will belong to you."

Luna made no move to take it, so the man wiggled his palm. "Go on. Take it."

"You sure?" she asked skeptically. "I don't really believe in magic..."

The man chuckled. "Who said it's magic? It's a pretty thing _from_ a pretty thing. What girl can resist that?"

Luna's hand reached out as if of its own accord, her fingers plucking the necklace up. The chain was cold and greasy to the touch, the way she imagined a gun barrel would be. She noticed that there were no lines on the man's palm, and her brow furrowed.

"There you go," the man said lowly, "give it to her and watch the sparks fly."

A cold wind washed over Luna, and she shivered. She looked up, meaning to ask the man just who the hell he was anyway, but the bench was empty.

Luna's brain tingled again, and she put her hands to her head. When it passed, she looked down at the cigarette smoldering between her fore-and-middle finger. Hm. Where did _that_ come from? And where did she get this necklace?

Oh well. It was pretty. Maybe she'd give it to Sam...

* * *

Lynn Loud tossed the ball straight into the air, leapt up, and snagged it back, cradling it to her chest and landing on her feet. Alright. She's going for the forward pass, she's winding up...and she's throwing! She threw the ball as hard as she could...then ran after it at top speed, her eyes fixed on it as it tore through the afternoon, always one or two steps ahead. No! She had to...

Her feet tangled and she fell, face planting into the unyielding ground. Aw, shit! For a moment she lay there, taking a quick mental inventory. Nose? Not busted. Teeth? All present and accounted for – she touched each one with the tip of her tongue – and none loose. Her head hurt like hell, though; felt like she went a couple rounds with Mike Tyson.

The greatest pain, however, was in her chest. She fumbled and let the team down. Sure, the team was imaginary...this time, but that didn't matter. She was trying to be faster and stronger here, not clumsier and...fallier.

Letting out a frustrated puff of air, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the gray sky. Well...she could always take up chess or something. That was technically a sport, right? Maybe she'd get Lincoln to teach her; chess seemed like the kind of dorky thing that was right up his alley.

She started to get up, but a face appeared above her, and she cried out.

"Nice hands, feet," a dark voice said.

Lynn sat bolt upright and spun around to face the intruder, her heart blasting against her chest and her trembling hands planted in the grass. He was _big_ , bigger than a linebacker. Seven feet tall and as wide as the grinning front of a Mac truck. He was wearing a long trench coat and a fedora. His face was dark with clustered shadows.

He knelt down and looked at her, his smile wide and full of gleaming teeth. "Have a nice trip?" His eyes blazed with malicious glee. "I thought this was football, not ring around the rosie." He screamed laughter, and Lynn licked her lips.

"W-What do you want?"

The man ducked his head to one side, and Lynn's brain tingled like it was full of bugs. She was cold, too. So cold. "I want to help you. If you'll let me."

Lynn's powerful legs snapped instinctively closed. The man's eyes flickered down then back up. He started to laugh again, the sound rising until Lynn swore she could hear the shriek of fighter jets and the explosion of napalm.

He laid his hand on her bare ankle, and she shuddered. His touch was cold and slimy. It also thrummed like high tension wires. "I should be insulted," he said, leaning in, "but I'm very...forgiving. Now tell me, little girl, what is it your heart most desires?"

Lynn blinked. She was surprised when she heard herself speak, heard herself telling him exactly what she wanted in her heart of hearts. "I-I-I want to be faster...and stronger."

"Ah," the man said, leaning back on his knees and releasing Lynn's ankle; her skin crawled. "Something _told_ me you would ask for that." He reached into his coat, and Lynn flinched.

Instead of a gun, or a knife, or a bomb with a lit fuse, he brought out a slim aluminum can. Red and yellow flames raced up the sides. "Here you go," he said, holding the can out to her.

"W-What is it?"

The man held it up to his face. "Roid Rage," he said. "It's an energy drink." He tapped one finger to a picture of a very buff man with short blonde hair on the front. "Look, Scott Steiner likes it." He held the can out again and Lynn took it in her shaky hand. She looked it up and down. "What's...?"

When she looked back up, the man was gone.

For a moment she was dazed, then her eyes and mind cleared. That was one _hell_ of a hit to the head. Her lips were parched, and she snapped open her drink. Good thing she bought this on the way over...

* * *

Luna took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her short brown hair. _Alright. Just be natural. You're just hanging out with your girl...like, like your friend. Your bro. Be cool. No pressure_.

She drew back her fist but paused just before it met the door. Damn it. She turned away and put her hands on her hips. The street stood empty save for a boy on a bike and a girl skipping rope. You know, riding bikes and skipping rope sounded really good about now. Hell, being a kid and not having to worry about whether your girl crush will reject you and turn her back on you would really hit the spot. The only worry she'd have was whether she could jump high enough and fast enough to avoid slapping the rope against her ankles.

 _Get a grip, man, you're acting like a little girl._

Yeah, and maybe she was. Shit, she sure felt like one when she was around Sam.

Turning back to the door, she took another deep breath. Let's try this again. She made a fist and knocked. Such a simple gesture, but _so_ hard to perform.

When the deed was done, she nervously crossed her arms, then put them at her sides. No, that wasn't right. She crossed them again. Goddamn it, what are you supposed to do with these things, anyway?

The tumblers of the lock turned with a click, and the knob rattled; Luna's heart jumped into her throat. She quickly put her arms at her sides...then crossed them again.

The door opened, and Sam appeared.

Luna's heart sped up.

"Hey," Sam said happily. She was wearing purple pants, a white band T (The Who...Luna could forgive that...not _everyone_ appreciated the genius of Mick Swagger), and a denim jacket. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders...blonde save for a streak of blue in the front.

Luna swallowed a stupid grin. "H-Hey, how's it going?"

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "It's going. Come on in."

She stepped aside, and Luna entered on shaky knees. Sam shut the door and turned the thumb lock. The living room was small and cozily appointed. Family photos stared back from the beige colored walls. A couch with a funky seventies pattern faced an entertainment center, a La-Z Boy recliner pressing against one arm. Luna took a deep breath through her nose, sucking in the pleasant house smell that she associated with her crush.

"I'm glad you texted," Sam said, "I was starting to get really bored." She brushed past Luna and went into the kitchen. The floor was cracked yellow linoleum and the walls were papered with a brown and white pattern that Luna had never seen before. From what Sam had told her in the past, the place was built in 1974 and the same couple lived in it from day one all the way to when she and her family moved in in 2014. Everything except the furniture was new when Jimmy Carter was still president. "Sundays are the worst," Sam said, leaning into the fridge. "There's nothing on TV but Joel Olsteen and infomercials."

"Yeah, Sundays suck," Luna agreed just because she had to say _something_.

Sam bumped the fridge door closed with her hip and held up two cans of Coke. "Thirsty?"

"Yeah, sure."

Sam crossed to the kitchen table and sat. Luna came in and did likewise, picking up one of the Cokes and cracking it open. She felt her cheeks blush as she stole a long, lingering look at the beautiful girl next to her: Her big, warm eyes, her slender throat, her pink lips glistening in the overhead light.

"You hear about Heath?" Sam asked, lifting her own soda to her lips and taking a drink.

"Heath Pritchards?" Luna asked. He was Mick Swagger's guitarist; he was sixty-some and looked like he was one-hundred-sixty-some.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Got busted with a bunch of drugs last night."

" _What?"_

Sam giggled, a musical sound. "They said he had H in his butt." She bent over and pressed her fist to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Luna laughed too, not because it was funny (it wasn't...Heath was a cool dude), but because Sam was so cute.

"Didn't Pete Townshend get caught with child porn?" Luna retorted.

Sam assumed a faux-serious expression and pointed at Luna. "No, man, he was _framed_."

Luna snorted. "By who?"

"Mick Swagger."

"Pfft. Mick Swagger doesn't diddle little kids. He can have any woman he wants."

"...so he can get to their six-year-old daughters."

Luna laughed and slipped her hand nervously into her pocket, her fingers grazing something cold and metallic. She closed her fingers around it and pulled it out. Oh, that necklace she found!

"What's that?" Sam asked, nodding at it.

"Uh...it's mine," Luna said. "I found it and thought you might like it. It's kind of girly, I guess."

She held it up, and Sam's eyes widened. "Oh, that's rad. Let me see it." She stuck out her hand and Luna dropped it into her palm, her fingertips grazing Sam's smooth, warm flesh.

Sam hoisted it up and examined. It caught the overhead light and twinkled brightly. It _was_ pretty badass. Smiling, Sam slipped it over her head, the heart coming to rest between her breasts. "Thanks, Lune," she said, and threw her arms around Luna, whose face turned almost as red as the pendent.

"Uhhh..." Luna stammered as Sam's breasts flattened against her own, "you're welcome...dude."

A shudder went through Sam's body, and her arms tightened, momentarily cutting off Luna's oxygen.

When Sam pulled away, there was a light in her eyes that wasn't there before. "You wanna go bang the drums?"

"Yeah, sure."

Sam leaned closer, her smile widening. "Or would you rather bang _me?"_


	4. Passion

In the park, Lynn Loud rolled her neck and flexed her arms. Her heart slammed against her ribs and power...pure, raw _power_ surged through her veins. She felt like she could snap a tree in two. Speaking of which...there was one of those dumb pine trees now, just standing there and looking gay as all get out. Lynn bared her teeth, dug her heels into the soft earth, and rocked back and forth. "I'm coming for you, tree," she growled.

Rocking faster, she took off like a bullet, streaking toward the massive pine, her ponytail fluttering behind her and her arms pumping. She realized with a heady rush that she had never run this fast in her entire life. She was practically _flying_. Ahead, the hateful tree drew closer, mocking her. _Come and get me, little girl...bet'cha can't!_

Lynn let out an angry snarl and pushed herself faster. When she was close, she bent over and leaned in: Her shoulder connected with the trunk, and she cried out as a jarring vibration filled her body. She fell back and landed in the soft grass, her butt landing on a root and her shorts tearing. Hot rage shot through her, and she jumped to her feet. "Fuck you!" she screamed, then hit the tree with a spin kick it would _never_ forget. The last few leaves on its lower branches came loose and drifted to the ground.

"That's right," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding. "You're a little bitch and _I'm_ your mama."

She spun on her heels, saw the ball lying in the grass thirty feet away, and ran at it, lashing out with her foot at the last minute. It soared into the sky and she stopped to watch it, putting up her hand to shield her eyes...there it was! Way over there, leaving the park and arching down, probably about to land in someone's backyard. Oh well. Fuck that ball.

Laughing, she went over to her bike, climbed on, and started home. Man, she felt like punching something...

 _Wonder what's for lunch. A big, bloody steak sounds good..._

* * *

Lucy closed her book, using her index finger to mark her spot, and glanced at Lincoln. His nose was buried in a comic. She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and opened her book again. She tried to read, but the information, while flowing into her, kind of...didn't sink in. She'd been on the same page for almost fifteen minutes and she didn't even know what was happening. The hero was about to fight the evil werewolf or something. She didn't really care. She wanted to talk to Lincoln about...um...their relationship, but she didn't have the courage...the courage to bring it up and, she suspected, the courage to actually go through with it if he agreed. She longed for it, though, and she knew that sometime soon she _would_ bring it up, whether she was afraid or not, whether she _wanted_ to or not.

She looked up from her book and stared off into space, imagining the intimacy of being one with her brother...his body bonded to hers, his lips against her lips, him breathing out the same air she breathed in, his hands on her face, his fingers in her hair, his heart pounding against her heart...a small smile touched her lips. Yes, please.

She glanced at Lincoln again, shivering as her ponytail tickled her neck. She sighed. "Can I let my hair down now? Please?"

Lincoln glanced over the top of his comic and shrugged. "If you want."

His tone made it clear that _he_ didn't want her to, but he wouldn't stop her.

"You're not even looking at me, though," she said.

"Yes I am," he replied. "Every now and then."

His cheeks started to turn red, and she grinned, feeling her own flush. She bowed her head so he wouldn't see. "Alright. I'll keep it up."

"That's my girl," he grinned.

She cocked her head. "Your girl, huh?"

He nodded. "I mean...you _are_ , right?"

She tossed one shoulder. "I guess."

Lincoln lifted a brow and Lucy smiled. "I'm _totally_ your girl."

He smiled too, then set the comic aside with a flourish, spreading his arms. "Come here, then."

She giggled, sat her book down on the bed (not caring that she lost her place), and crawled into his arms, sighing contentedly when he wrapped them around her tiny frame. Purring like a kitten, she melted in to him, resting the side of her head against his chest. The soothing sound of his heartbeat filled her, and she took his hand in hers, their fingers entwining. She looked up into his soft eyes, and her heartbeat quickened. She felt a big grin sliding across her face. She didn't smile very often, but when she did, it was for Lincoln.

"You have such a pretty smile," he said.

Her blush deepened. "No, I don't."

"Yes you do." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Everything about you is beautiful."

"You're blind," she grinned, "or stupid." She countered every compliment he gave her, but she secretly (or not-so-secretly) loved them; each one made her tingle from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Lincoln shrugged. "I'm not blind, but I _might_ be stupid." He squeezed her hand. "But I'm lucky, so what does it matter?"

She laughed. " _I'm_ the lucky one."

She leaned in, and he met her lips halfway with his, his tongue slipping into her mouth and moving slowly over hers. She kissed him back, letting go of his hand and touching his face. He moved his hand slowly up and down her back, sending shivers down her spine.

Their mouths worked furiously, Lucy's heart beginning to race and heat spreading out from between her legs. She drew herself up until she was on her knees, his legs splayed on either side of her. Holding his face in both hands, she kissed him as deeply as she could. She'd heard the term "sucking face" before, and she vaguely imagined that anyone who saw them would be justified in using it to describe what they were doing: Her head tilted to the side, his cheeks in her palms, his entire head practically in her mouth. She didn't care. She _needed_ to be as close to him as possible.

His hands came to rest on her hips, and a pang of desire rippled through her. She pushed him back against the headboard and laid her hands on his chest. His eyes were wide and his jaw slack, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

"Lincoln..." she said.

"Huh?" he said after a few moments. He looked so stricken that Lucy couldn't help but giggle.

Taking a deep breath, she brushed her bangs out of her face and locked eyes with him. Since this was so important, she figured she'd better treat it as such. "I love you, Lincoln."

He grinned. "I love you too."

"And I want to have sex with you."

Lincoln gaped.

She fought the urge to turn away. She took a deep breath and forced herself to continue. "I...I keep thinking of what it would be like...to be one with you, to be joined together and..." she trailed off. No matter how hard she tried to articulate it, she always fumbled. She finally gave in and looked away. "I hope you don't think I'm terrible or something."

For a moment he didn't speak or move, and she thought he was upset...or uncomfortable...but then he touched her chin and tiled her head up. A lopsided smile and warm, loving eyes met her, and her heart swelled.

"I love you too, Lucy, and...I've thought about it too."

"You have?" she asked.

Lincoln nodded sheepishly. "I figured we'd get there eventually. Just having you is good enough for me."

She smiled. "If you want to wait..."

He shrugged. "I'm not going to lie...I kinda want it pretty bad."

She giggled...then leaned into his lips, kissing him slowly and deeply, with less urgency than before. He caressed her cheek as he kissed her back, his hand sliding to the soft skin of her vulnerable throat, his grazing fingertips sending electric shocks down her back. She slipped her hands under his shirt and rubbed his quivering stomach and his pulsing chest, moving slowly, exploring every dip, ridge, and plane with playful curiosity. His breath hitched, and she sucked his bottom lip as she lightly drew her nails down his rippling body.

He panted and watched her with wide eyes.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" she asked.

His head bobbed up and down, and she grinned. She climbed over his leg and scooted down until she was laying on her side. Lincoln laid next to her. For a moment they simply rested their hands on each other's' faces and stared into one another's eyes.

Then they kissed again.

* * *

Luna Loud drifted through the streets of Royal Woods like a woman in a dream, not sure if her feet were even touching the ground and not caring either way. The day had gotten colder while she was at Sam's, but she didn't feel it; she was warm inside _and_ out. She dreamily licked her lips and tasted Sam's mouth and...other things...a shiver of delight running down her spine.

" _You wanna go bang the drums?"_ Sam asked, _"Or would you rather bang me?"_

Luna's jaw dropped against her chest with an audible click and her face turned scarlet. She smiled seductively, her half-lidded eyes pooling with lust. Luna would have thought she was joking if she didn't take her face in her hands and shove her tongue into Luna's mouth. For a moment Luna was stricken, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs and her mind scrambled with hazy white static. Sam climbed into Luna's lap and straddled her, and Luna snapped back to reality, grabbing the front of Sam's shirt in shaky hands and kissing her back, their tongues flopping clumsily over one another. Sam bucked her hips, the crotch of her jeans pushing the hem of Luna's shirt back and rubbing along her bare leg. Blood crashed in her temples and in that moment she lost herself to passion, only coming out of her reprieve when the chair tipped backwards and they spilled onto the floor, Sam on top, her knees digging into Luna's sides. Huh? Oh, yeah, we _were_ in a chair, weren't we?

Sam drew her head back and bit her bottom lip, her eyes like that of a lioness closing in for the kill. Luna's core tingled, and she suddenly found it very hard to breathe. Sam ran her hands down Luna's chest, and Luna sighed at the feeling of her lover's nails through the front of her shirt. "You know how long I've wanted to do that?" Sam asked.

"As long as I have?" Luna panted.

Sam bowed her head and slowly, sensuously ran the tip of her tongue over Luna's lips; Luna shivered. "Longer."

They didn't make it to Sam's bedroom that first time. They were all over each other, crashing into walls and bouncing off furniture, Sam stripping out of her jacket and yanking Luna's shirt over her head, Luna pushing Sam's jeans down past her shapely hips. In her lust, Luna fumbled with Sam's bra (Sam attacking her mouth didn't help matters much), so she said fuck it and ripped it. Sam didn't seem to mind; she pulled it off, and her pert breasts came free, her hard, pink nipples grazing against Luna's chest as they tumbled back onto the couch. Somehow Luna's bra wound up torn and thrown aside. She didn't know how, and she didn't care.

Sam was on top, her breasts pressed against Luna's and her tongue exploring every crevice of Luna's mouth. Luna ran her hands up and down Sam's naked back, tracing her flexing shoulder blades, her spine, her nails scoring warm, quaking flesh. Sam giggled into her mouth. "You're really turning me on, Luna Loud," she purred.

"You're turning _me_ on."

"You know what _that_ means, don't you?" Sam asked, and nipped Luna's lower lip.

"What?" Luna asked.

"We have to get each other _off_."

And they did. Again, and again, and again. The first time they didn't even take their panties off: Sam hiked Luna's skirt up and rubbed herself against Luna until they both shook and cried out in their orgasm. Their underwear was so soaked with their combined juices that when Luna pulled hers down and tossed them to the floor, they made a wet _plopping_ sound. After that...things got a little hazy. They fucked on the couch again, this time their boiling sexes actually touching ( _oooooh, god, I didn't know it was possible to feel this good!)_ ; they fucked on the living room floor; they fucked in the hall (they were _trying_ to make it to Sam's room, really, they were); on the floor in Sam's room; then finally in Sam's bed. Each time up until then had been quick, needy, but once they finally dropped onto the bed, they took their time with each other, touching, stroking, kissing, licking, and sucking every inch of taunt young flesh.

Call her weird, but Luna liked the metallic taste of Sam's earrings as she suckled her earlobe and of her belly button as she drew her tongue down her stomach. She also liked the way Sam thrashed her head back and forth and held onto the cover for dear life when she went down on her. Just knowing that Sam was losing her mind _because of her_ was almost enough in itself to make her cum.

As Luna floated home, she tried to remember how many times she came, but couldn't. More than ten. Hell, probably closer to twenty.

The sex was fantastic, but Luna's favorite part overall was holding Sam in her arms afterwards, her fingers laced over her stomach and her face buried in her fragrant hair. She could have stayed like that all day, but eventually her she heard her phone buzzing in the living room. When she caught sight of the clock on the nightstand, she jerked. "Shit."

"What?" Sam asked sleepily.

"I was supposed to be home a half hour ago."

Luna went to get up, but Sam caught her by her wrist. When Luna looked down into her lover's big, sad eyes, her heart broke. "B-But I don't _want_ you to go," she pouted.

"I don't wanna go either, but I gotta," Luna replied, kneeling and kissing Sam's wrist.

Sam sighed deeply. "Okay."

When Luna got to her phone, she found five texts from her mother. Damn it. She went to her contacts list, found her mother's number, and called.

"Hey, sorry, we lost track of time. I'll be home in, like, fifteen minutes, okay?"

When she hung up, Sam was standing in the hall, her hands clasped over her stomach. She smiled when Luna turned. "I had a good time," she said.

"So did I," Luna said, bending down to grab her skirt. With it in hand, she went over to Sam and touched her face. "I was gonna tell you that I liked you, but I kept chickening out."

"Really?" Sam asked, her eyes searching Luna's.

"Really," Luna smiled. "I was _mad_ stressing."

Sam smiled. "Well, you were stressing for nothing."

As Luna reached her driveway, she remembered the way they kissed before she left. Slowly, passionately, electric sparks dancing across their tongues.

Laying her hand on the doorknob, she sighed contentedly.

Inside, a loud crash sounded...followed by a scream.


	5. Ruthless Aggression

Lynn Loud got home fifteen minutes after leaving the park; she jumped off her bike slammed it against the garage floor, and kicked the back tire for good measure. She also _may_ have punched the door frame on her way into the kitchen. Hey, she felt like hitting things.

Inside, she found Lola rummaging through the fridge, one index finger touching her chin. _Hmmm, what_ ever _shall I eat?_ Lynn ducked down behind the kitchen table and grinned. It was like one of those stupid nature documentaries...the lioness stalking the gazelle in the Serengeti or some shit. Lola had no idea she was there.

Moving at a crouch, Lynn scurried around the side of the table and squatted like a dog. _Oooh, Lola, look behind you._

Miss Fairy Princess, however, was too preoccupied, her head moving back and forth as she scanned the shelves. She let out a thoughtful _"hmmm,"_ and Lynn started to creep forward, her shoulders squared, her body tense, her nose twitching as if at the scent of blood, and her hands hooked into talons.

Lola sighed. "There's _never_ anything in here. Ten kids. Pfft. They eat like ten truck drivers."

Pushing off on powerful legs, Lynn sprang, diving through the air like an action hero, imaginary explosions filling the kitchen around her. Her shadow fell over Lola, and the girl turned, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open. A devilish grin crossed Lynn's face, then...pow, impact: Lynn's shoulder struck Lola in the chest, and Lola flew back into the fridge with a breathless _umph!_ Metal shelves collapsed, and a flood of cans, jars, Tupperware containers, and covered plates cascaded down around her, smashing on the floor. Lynn jumped back, threw her arms up, and thrusted her hips obscenely forward. " _Booooooo-yahhhhhhhhhhhh!"_

Lola, her hair covered in three-day old spaghetti like a wig, shook her head, then fixed Lynn with a deadly glare, her eyes blazing and her teeth bared. Lynn shoved her middle finger into the pageant queen's face and laughed. "How's mom's spaghetti, Eminem?"

Lola clenched her fists and shook with rage.

Still laughing, Lynn plucked a meatball off her sister's head and plopped it into her mouth. "Hmm," Lynn said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling in faux-contemplation, "tastes like glitter bitch."

With a scream of fury, Lola threw herself at Lynn, but Lynn side-stepped and snatched the little girl's crown off her blonde head; saucy noodles hung limply over the edges. Lola spun. "Give it back!" she roared, and came at Lynn: Lynn shoved out her arm and planted her palm square in the middle of Lola's forehead, holding her at arm's length. She spun the crown on the tip of her index finger like a basketball.

"I don't know," Lynn taunted, "I kinda like it."

"It would look _horrible_ on you!" Lola screamed. "Now give it back!"

Lynn's brow knitted. "Horrible, huh?" She tossed the crown into the air and spiked it with her head like a soccer ball. "How do I look, sis?"

"Like a drag queen! Now give it back... _now!"_

Lynn flashed and shoved Lola to the ground. Balling her fists, Lynn loomed over her, and Lola threw her arms over her face, trembling in fear now. "I'm _not_ a fucking drag queen. I'm a girl...a girl with breasts and a pussy and I like _dudes_."

"Leave me alone!" Lola wailed.

She was such a pathetic sight that all Lynn could do was sneer with distaste as she passed. "Thanks for the crown, _puta_."

Laughing, she went into the living room just as Lori came down the stairs and flopped onto the couch with a sigh. She laid back against one arm and pulled her phone out. Lynn rolled her eyes. Texting is all this chick ever did. Damn.

Dropping into a half-crouch, Lynn scurried over to the couch, dug the tips of her fingers into the arm, and lifted up, Lori's head bare inches from her face. Lynn had a clear view of Lori's phone. _I love you so much, boo-boo-bear! :) 3_

Lynn rolled her eyes. Yuck. You know what Lori needs? Some fresh air. And exercise.

Shooting her arm out, Lynn yanked Lori's phone out of her hand. "Yoink!"

For just a second Lori's hand remained where it was, her thumb poised as if over a keyboard, then she whipped around. "Lynn, _what_ are you doing?"

Lynn held up the phone and smiled. "Spending all day texting is making you fat, Lori."

Lori's face fell. "I am _not_ fat!"

Snickering mean-spiritedly, Lynn threw out her arms in a gorilla-like gesture to simulate a massive stomach, and stepped heavily from one foot to the other. "I'm Lori...puff, puff, puff...which way to the kitchen?...huff...huff...huff."

Gritting her teeth, Lori swung her legs off the couch and sat up. "Lynn...give me my phone back or I will _literally_ rip your head off."

Lynn's face darkened. She spun the phone on her finger much the same way she had Lola's crown. "Come and get it...fatso."

With a scream, Lori dove off the couch. Lynn ducked, threw out her forearm, and hit Lori in the legs. Screaming, Lori flew over Lynn's head and did a complete 180 in mid-air before crashing into the entertainment center. It collapsed, and the TV fell to the floor, shattering into a million little pieces. Someone screamed, and Lynn turned to see Luan on the stairs, her face white. "Lori!"

Lori lay among the ruins of the entertainment center, a moan drifting from her lips. For the briefest of moments, Lynn felt a rush of emotion – fear, remorse, shame – then she felt _angry_.

"Nice going, Lori!" she said. "You broke the TV! How am I going to watch the game _now?_ " She slammed Lori's phone against the coffee table, and it broke. "Eye for an eye, bitch!"

Huffing angrily, she spun on her heels and pounded up the stairs, shoving Luan out of the way with a gruff, "Move!"

Coming alive, Luan went down the stairs and rushed to her sister's side as Lola came in from the kitchen and Luna came through the front door. They converged on Lori as one, kneeling and talking over each other.

"I'm fine," Lori said, sitting up.

"What happened?" Luna asked. She came in just in time to see Lynn disappearing up the stairs. She looked _pissed_. Did _she_ do this?

"Lynn's crazy," Lola said. "She speared me into the fridge and took my crown away."

It was only then that Luna noticed her sister's tiara _was,_ indeed, missing.

"She took my phone and when I went to get it back she threw me over her shoulder," Lori said.

Luna blinked. Lynn could be...rough at times, but damn. She looked at the wreckage scattered across the living room floor and furrowed her brow.

"I'm going to kick her ass and get my phone back," Lori said, and got up.

"Uh...your phone's on the coffee table," Luan said, smiling nervously.

Lori went over to the table and cried out when she saw the shattered remains of her phone. "No!" She sank to her knees and flopped her forehead against the surface. "That _bitch!"_

* * *

When Lincoln came downstairs and saw the TV – and the entertainment center – MIA, he knew something happened. He found Mom and Dad in the kitchen, Dad sweeping and Mom on the phone.

"What happened to the TV?" Lincoln asked.

"Well, son," Dad said, irritation in his voice, "it's broken."

Lincoln winced. He shouldn't have been surprised. Things have a way of...uh...breaking when you have eleven kids running around. "Let me guess," Lincoln sighed, thinking of all the shows he was going to miss, "it was Lynn."

"Yep," Dad said.

"Lynn broke the TV?" Lucy asked from behind Lincoln, and he jumped.

"And the fridge," Dad said tightly.

"Wow, the fridge _too?_ " Lincoln asked.

"And Lori's phone."

"Damn," Lincoln blurted, then clamped a hand over his mouth.

" _Lincoln, watch your language!"_

"How'd she break all that stuff?" Lucy asked, standing next to Lincoln now.

Dad was kneeling now as he swept dust into the dustpan. "Well...she decided she wanted to be the Mayor of Bullytown. Now she's going to be the Mayor of Her Room for a month."

Lucy's shoulders sagged. "Lovely." The last thing in the world she wanted to do was share a room with a frustrated and grounded Lynn. When she was caged up, she was extra grumpy. Lincoln knew this, and when they were alone he told her she could bunk with him whenever she needed a break. She smiled and hugged him. "Thanks, Lincoln. I-I'm sorry."

Lincoln held her at arm's length and looked into her eyes...or where her eyes were. "Don't be."

He wouldn't lie, he was disappointed: They tried to have sex, but it hurt Lucy too much and they finally gave up. To be honest, though, it kind of hurt him too. Gee, if just putting the head in hurt like that, what would the whole thing feel like? It wasn't Lucy's fault, though. If it was anyone's, it was his.

 _Am I too big?_ he worried as he lay next to Lucy in bed, cradling her in his arm. They were both naked from the waist down and frustrated. He felt terrible because she wanted this so bad – and he did too – but he couldn't give it to her.

"We can try again," she said, looking up into his eyes. "And if it doesn't work that time, we can try again." She snuggled against his chest. "We'll get it eventually."

He hoped.

At dinner, the atmosphere was dark and oppressive, the only sound the scraping of forks against plates. Lincoln stole a few glances at Lynn, and was certain that something was different about her...something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Sure, she looked...meaner, her brow heavy and her eyes dark...but there was something else. He was halfway done when he realized what it was: Her face was covered in a crop of fresh acne.

And...was that _peach fuzz_ on her upper lip?

Lincoln gaped. Lynn glanced up at him, her face darkening, and he quickly looked away, the intense look in her eyes scaring him.

When dinner was over, Lincoln helped Luna with the dishes. She seemed kind of different too...happier. Over the past couple weeks she was kind of down, but today she was smiling and bright-eyed. He noticed her looking down at her lap and grinning a lot during dinner, which told him she was texting someone.

Like a boy.

That made Lincoln happy. Luna was a great sister and a great person. She deserved happiness.

When he was done, he went upstairs, pausing at his door when the sudden sensation of being watched came over him. He turned, and started when he saw a pair of blazing eyes staring at him between Lynn's door and the jamb.

"Your ass is grass, Lincoln," Lynn said in a firm, too-deep voice, and withdrew, shutting the door. Lincoln winced, his heart starting to pound.

What did he do to _her?_

* * *

Whistling an airy tune, The Man With No Name walked through the nighttime streets of Royal Woods, his bedroll on his back and a song in heart. It was raining by the time he moved away from the lights of downtown, but he did not get wet. A needling wind swept over him, but he did not shiver.

He did not have a course in mind...he simply let his rundown cowboy boots lead him where they would, and that turned out to be into the residential section of town. Big, comfortable houses with spacious front lawns flanked the sidewalk. He saw basketball hoops over garage doors, white picket fences, and minivans with those obnoxious stick figure stickers in their back windows.

 _Ain't that America, home of the free_ , he thought with a barracuda smile, _little pink houses for you and me_.

His dark laughter rolled up the street, rebounding off the shuddered facades, the sound loud above the hiss of the rain...and colder than the wind.

Today had been a good day. He met a dozen people looking for something. A black man who didn't want to see his neighbor's eyesore of a house anymore ( _here's that blindness you ordered, hahahaha!)_ , a woman looking for fame (at noon tomorrow she would be run over by a drunken democratic senator on holiday recess – the controversy would last _months_ ), and a man who wanted his nagging wife to give him the time to read (after snapping and strangling her, he'd have 25 to life of reading time free and fucking clear). He took great satisfaction in helping others. It's why God put him here.

His boots carried him down a side street and then left along another broad avenue lined with nice houses. Babes whimpered in their cribs as he passed, old ladies felt faint, and pregnant women miscarried. His long, twisted shadow fell across windows and doors, and if you saw it you would swear it was alive.

When he reached the end of the street, his boots stopped, and his cold eyes were drawn magnetically to a certain house with white siding, dormers, and a deep front porch. There was a big oak tree in the front yard, and the ground was scattered with toys and junk. The Man With No Name sensed _need_ , and his boots led him through the wet grass and to a side window. He pressed his face to the glass, his hands cupped on either side, and peered into a kitchen. A little boy with white hair stood at a sink next to...ahhh, the gay girl. Why, isn't _this_ a lovely coincidence? He closed his eyes, and in his mind he saw the other girl...the one he met in the park. Hmmm, seems they're sisters, cap'n.

That was _not_ a coincidence. He was _meant_ to come here, and meet these people. Why, he didn't know, but he wasn't one to question the stars when they aligned.

The Man's nose twitched with the stink of _need_ , only it was a different from the ones coming from the house. Sharper. More...diseased? He turned and watched a dark-clad figure hurrying along the sidewalk, its hands in its pockets and its head down. The Man drifted away from the window and into the shadows as the figure started across the lawn and came to the window, the smell of its need growing as it approached. In the spill of light falling through the pane, The Man saw that it was dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, the hood up. He inferred by its slight frame that it was a girl. His grin widened when the light reflected off a ruby heart around its neck.

The girl stood on her tip toes to see over the ledge, one hand coming out of her pocket and resting on the outcrop to steady herself. Her head tilted, and he heard her breath catch when she laid her eyes on the short haired girl inside. The smell of her passion strengthened, and The Man basked in it, taking a deep breath through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, the taste of it rolling across his tongue like fine wine. The girl stared through the window for a long time...so long that The Man grew bored and slunk away, coming into the backyard. A raccoon with black ringed eyes sat atop the lid of a plastic trashcan, and when it saw him, it froze.

The Man cocked a finger at it, and it fell over dead. He laughed darkly and threw his face up to the rain. Get ready, Loud family...here comes the bogeyman.

* * *

"Nice ponytail."

 _Yank!_

Lucy's head was wrenched backwards and tears filled her eyes. She threw out a fist and caught Lynn in the stomach. The older girl didn't seem to notice. "Does Lincoln hold it like this when he fucks you from behind?"

" _Let go,"_ Lucy said, her voice strained. She was not sensitive...but her scalp was. Always had been, and the slightest tug hurt like hell.

Lynn pulled harder and leaned in until their faces were almost touching. "Does he put it in your ass, Lucy?"

Lucy took a deep, shuddery breath. She was starting to get angry.

Lynn's smile deepened. "He does, doesn't he? Come on, we all know you two are fucking."

Snapping, Lucy made a fist and hit Lynn in the stomach as hard as she could. Lynn's grip on her ponytail released and she stumbled back. When she fixed Lucy with a deadly gaze, the little girl's heart began to race.

"I oughta rip your fucking head off," Lynn said, her fists clenching and unclenching. "You're lucky I don't want to get in anymore trouble." Spitting pointedly on the floor in front of Lucy's bed, Lynn went over to hers and flopped down. Lucy's heart slowly fell back to its normal rhythm as she warily watched her sister roll over and face the wall. Lynn could be kind of a bully sometimes, but not like this: Tonight she was a holy terror. It started as soon as Lucy came in from dinner. Lynn was lying in her bed and absently paging through a sports magazine. When Lucy entered, Lynn snorted. "Dorkula rising," she said, closing the magazine and fixing her with a sneer. "Suck any good necks lately, Count Dipshit?"

Lucy sighed and ignored her. That's what you do with Lynn...you ignore her when she's ill-tempered and she eventually leaves you alone because you're no fun. She still did the whole "two for flinching" thing to Lincoln because he flinched, Lucy didn't, and Lynn didn't even bother trying anymore.

It was kind of hard to ignore her this time around though because something wasn't right with her. Lucy noticed it at dinner. Her voice was deeper and her upper lip was...hairy; it hadn't been that morning. If Lucy wasn't mistaken, her arms and legs also looked more...toned.

Lucy crawled onto her bed and sat down with a book, but Lynn wouldn't leave her alone. "Little Miss Doom and Gloom...poor, pity me. I'm eight and life sucks _so_ bad."

 _Don't take the bait, Luce,_ she told herself.

Lynn sat up. "I bet one good fucking would make you a happy fairy princess like Lola."

Lucy sighed. Little did Lynn know, she and Lincoln tried that afternoon, but the burning, stinging feeling of him parting her was too much and she backed out, which made her feel terrible, because she's the one who pushed for it in the first place. And Lincoln wanted it.

So did she, of course...her body just wasn't ready to cooperate. _The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak,_ she thought sadly.

" _I_ could use a good fucking," Lynn said and threw herself against her pillow. All this sex talk was kind of making her uncomfortable.

"If I had a dude here, I'd _shove_ him down, get on him, and ride his dick until it snapped in two."

"That's gross," Lucy said, her lips puckering.

"I'd even let you watch." From the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Lynn rub her crotch through her shorts, and shuddered. What the hell is wrong with her?

"No, thanks," Lucy said.

"You like sucking blood, don't you? What about sucking something else?"

"Lynn...really, you're being disgusting."

"Pfft."

For a long time Lynn didn't speak, and Lucy was just starting to lose herself in her book when, _Nice ponytail..._

Presently, Lucy turned away from her sister and tried to focus on her book, but couldn't. Lynn was acting really weird, and Lucy didn't know why.

But it scared her.


	6. A Strange Morning

**Contains a reference to AberrantScript's** _ **My Only Sunshine,**_ **which is without a doubt the darkest Loud House fanfiction I've ever read. Hell, it's the darkest** _ **anything**_ **I've ever read. I beta read the epilogue Tuesday evening and it legitimately kept me awake. I thought I had him whipped with "My Lincoln" but he came back and cleaned my clock. Dude's a monster. He's a _t least_ as bad as Hitler. **

* * *

Luna Loud woke to a strange and frightening sensation. In her sleep fogged mind, she imagined a bomb was trembling in the palm of her hand, smoke pouring from it as it reached the point of detonation. He heart jumped into her throat and her eyes flew open; they were wide and pooled with fear. She sat up, and the bomb dropped from her hand, landing on the edge of the bed. Even as she drew herself away from it, she realized that it wasn't a bomb at all but her phone.

Whew!

Luna laughed at herself. Oh, man, what a spaz! She wasn't used to falling asleep with her phone in her hand, though. She never had a reason to...until Sam.

Still breathing heavy, she snatched it up. It was 5:57am (three minutes before her alarm was set to go off) and she had nine unread text messages from Sam. Luna blinked as a grin spread across her face. What did Lori say when she had a bunch of texts from Bobby? I'm so loved? Luna opened and read the first. It was from 12:35, around the same time she must have fallen asleep. "I miss you," followed by a frownie face. The next, at 12:38: "You asleep? Have sweet dreams!" The next at 12:44: "I can't wait to see you tomorrow." 12:59: "I can't stop thinking about you. Ugh." 1:05: "Wake up and talk to me lol." 1:25: "I wish you were here." 1:30: "Horny," followed by a frownie face. 1:45: "Wish it was you instead of my hand, lol." The most recent was: "You getting up soon?"

The one before last made Luna's core quiver. She typed, "Save any for me?" and hit send. She turned off the alarm and started to get up, but the phone buzzed, and she stopped what she was doing to read Sam's response. "There's plenty for you. You going to be at school today?"

"Duh, of course," Luna replied.

Luan's alarm went off, and Luna dropped her phone on the bed and jumped up so she could get to the bathroom first. Leni was the only one in line; she stood in front of the door was stooped shoulders and a hung head. She looked kind of like a zombie, her aquamarine nightgown resembling a hospital johnnie. Yawning, Luna walked up behind her and stretched. "Morning, Leni," she said.

Leni grunted.

"Nice day to be alive, huh, brah?" she grinned.

"If you say so," Leni croaked.

Luna wasn't a morning person either, but when you're young and in love with a beautiful girl – who likes you back! – it's hard _not_ to be a morning person...or an afternoon person...or a night person...

She thought of Sam's beautiful face, and joy filled her. She threw her arms around her sister's shoulders and drew her into a hug; Leni cried out. "Come on, sis! The world is _beautiful!"_

"Let me go, please," Leni said flatly.

Luna hugged her tight then unhanded her. "You need a boyfriend," Luna said.

"I need to pee," Leni replied.

The door opened, and Lori came out, her head bent over her phone...it still worked, though the screen was shattered. Luna thought of her own phone lying on her bed, and kind of wished she'd brought it. Sam was probably wondering where she was.

Leni went into the bathroom and Luna moved up a spot. Man, waiting in line every time you had to take a leak sucked.

"Yo, Steven Tyler!" Lynn said, coming up behind her. Luna almost didn't recognize her: Her voice was deeper than usual.

"Hey, si..." Luna started, but the words died on her lips when she glanced at her sister. Last night, Luna thought she noticed some peach fuzz on Lynn's upper lip. Well, today she didn't think, she _knew_. She didn't know if it qualified as a mustache, but it was definitely step one.

Lynn crossed her arms over her chest, the oversized sleeves of her jersey/gown-whatever-the-hell-it-was-supposed-to-be falling back to reveal toned muscle that wasn't there the night before. "How about you close your mouth?" Lynn said without a trace of humor. Luna instinctively obeyed. She started to ask Lynn what the hell was going on, but something in the younger girl's eyes stopped her, so she turned back toward the door.

"You trying to let me go first?" Lynn asked.

"No," Luna said.

"I _really_ have to piss."

"So do I."

Lynn sighed angrily. "You're a fucking bitch." She shot out her arm and shoved Luna, who almost fell.

Uncharacteristic anger rose in Luna, and she turned. "What the fuck is your problem, dude? You been a bitch since yesterday and what's up with that mustache, Freddie Mercury?"

Lynn bared her teeth and clenched her fists. "If I didn't want to get in anymore trouble..."

"What?" She locked eyes with Lynn. Neither one of them noticed Lincoln until he fell in behind Lynn, his eyes half-closed and his head bowed. Lynn spun and he fell back.

"Quit breathing down my fucking neck, you little faggot."

Luna flashed. "Don't talk to him like that, bitch. If you got a problem turn around and deal with it." Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty. She didn't like fighting but Lynn's behavior was getting ridiculous.

Lynn tensed and slowly shook her head. Her right fist clenched and unclenched. Instead of turning and throwing a punch, however, she drew a deep breath, shoulder-checked Lincoln, and went into her room, slamming the door as hard as she could; the whole house shook.

" _Stop slamming doors!"_ Dad yelled from downstairs.

Lincoln blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to get the sleep out. "What's _her_ issue? And what was that on her lip?"

Luna shook her head. "Man, I don't know, but something's going on." Leni came out of the bathroom just then, and Luna had to put Lynn on the backburner. She pissed, showered, and quickly shaved her legs. She wanted them to be smooth and silky for Sam. She smiled as she thought of her. Would they have time to...uh...be together after school? Luna hoped so. She was horny.

When she was done, she wrapped a towel around her body and went into the hall. Lincoln was first in line, followed by Luan, Lana, Lola, Lucy, and Lynn. Lynn shot her a dirty look, and Luna shot her one right back.

 _Yeah, something's definitely not right. Maybe I should talk to Mom and Dad._

* * *

 _Another day, another dollar,_ Lincoln thought as he slipped into an orange shirt. What was that joke from Spongebob? Another day, another nickel...because Mr. Krabs was so cheap he paid his employees slave wages? Heh. At least they got _some_ kind of money. A nickel a day didn't sound so bad when you made nothing a day.

He sat heavily on the edge of his bed and pulled his shoes on. _You loop-de-loop and pull...and your shoes are looking cool._ Arggh! Why did he have Spongebob on the brain? When was the last time he even watched Spongebob? Was it yesterday? He couldn't remember. Maybe?

Just as he was finishing up, Lucy slipped it, closed the door, and leaned against it. She was wearing her usual attire: Black blouse, black-and-white striped leggings. Her hair was down, her bangs in her face. Normal look, normal day.

She crossed her arms. "Lynn's really getting on my nerves."

"Mine too," Lincoln sighed. Standing in line, Lynn kept calling him names. "Yo, Snow White! Down in front! Your cowlick looks stupid!" "Lincoln's a bitch!" "Hey, noodle dick! Let me cut!"

At one point Lucy cried out, and Lincoln turned to seen Lynn giving her a noogie, which kind of pissed him off.

"Could you stop, please?" Luan asked tiredly.

"Could you go to hell?" Lynn retorted. After that she started in on Lola. "Keeping my crown warm?" "You got something that belongs to me. I want it back."

By the end of it, everyone in line was mad and Lynn was lucky they didn't team up and stomp her into the floor.

"There's something really weird going on. Have you seen her mustache? She looks like Edgar Allen Poe."

Her peach fuzz _was_ getting thicker...and darker. Girls got hair on their upper lip (right? He seemed to remember hearing that somewhere), but this was literally overnight. Hell, over a couple hours. Was that natural? Probably. Everyone says puberty's a bitch. Makes sense that Lynn would be one too.

"Puberty," Lincoln said. He planted his hands on his knees and looked at his sister. "It's a nightmare."

"I like nightmares," Lucy replied. "I don't like this." She came forward and dropped onto his knee. Lincoln rested his forehead against hers.

"We can always cook up a plan to kill her," he said.

Lucy giggled. "Yeah? How would we do that?"

Lincoln shrugged. "Put a bomb in her football. When she goes to kick it..."

"Or we could rig a sledgehammer to come down and hit her in the face when she opens the door."

"Put chlorine gas in the vents."

"Guilt her into hanging herself."

Lincoln laughed. "We're bad."

"Hmmm," she said, and leaned in, her lips meeting his. "I like being bad."

Lincoln kissed her again, flicking his tongue across hers and laying his hand on her beating heart. She put her hand between his legs and slowly rubbed his growing erection through his jeans. He in turn rubbed her nipple through her shirt, sending quivering pangs of desire into her loins. Her knees trembled and her heart slammed. She pushed against him, and he fell back onto the bed. She planted her knees on either side of him and pressed her groin against his bulge. Sparks of pleasure raced through her body, and she felt herself starting to dampen. Lincoln threaded his fingers through her hair.

She pulled her lips from his and panted against his cheek. "Lincoln..."

"Uh-huh?"

"Make love to me."

She lifted up and looked into his eyes. "Please?"

He grinned. "Alright."

Grinning herself now, she rolled off of him and pulled her leggings and underwear down. Heat radiated from between her legs and she shivered. _Stoke the fires of hell, brother,_ she thought, and giggled.

"What's so funny?" Lincoln asked as he unzipped his jeans.

"Nothing," she said. She kicked out of her shoes and then her leggings. She was nude from the waist down in front of him for the second time, and his eyes caressed her, making her skin tingle and her core even hotter than it already was.

Lincoln pulled his jeans to his ankles and mounted her, his already leaking tip sliding between her folds and poking her just above her entrance. His heat washed over her, and her toes curled against her socks. Her entire body was hot and she could barely breathe.

For a long moment they simply looked at each other, his arms splayed on either side of her head and her legs spread for him, her body aching for him to enter her, and fill her. He reached down and guided himself to her opening, then, slowly, gently, he pushed, his tip sinking in. He shifted and pushed deeper; Lucy gasped at the burning, rending pain, her body jerking reflexively away from him. He took a shuddery breath and tried again. Lucy hissed. "It really hurts."

Lincoln bowed his head and rolled off, the bed shifting under his weight. Lucy sighed. "I'm sorry, Lincoln."

"It's okay," he said, stretching out beside her, his member standing straight up and twitching like a junkie with H in his hand...but no needle to shoot it up with. Lucy rolled onto her side and propped her face in her palm.

"I hate my body," she said.

"It's not your fault."

"Yes it is."

She was speaking not to him, but to his penis. She couldn't have looked away from it even if a fire sprang up on the other side of the room. It was thick and smooth and beautiful.

It also looked sad.

She reached out her hand and touched it. Lincoln jumped. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you off."

"Lucy, you don't..."

"Yes I do," she said. "Plus...I want to."

She wrapped her small fingers around his shaft and stroked it, the slick, sticky feeling of his precum making her breath catch in her throat. It was hot and pulsed in her hand, the vein near the base throbbing with every palpitation of his heart. Lincoln sighed and buried the back of his head into his pillow. She smiled at the dazed look on his face and the haziness in his eyes. She increased her speed.

Suddenly, he rolled and looked into her eyes. His hand touched her stomach, pushing her blouse up, then crept lower. She separated her legs, and when his fingers brushed along her slit, she shuddered.

She stroked him and he stroked her, his middle finger finding her opening and rubbing along its rim in slow, deep circles. Lucy's brain scrambled with white passion, and she went faster as if by doing so she could outrun her orgasm. His breath was hot and sweat against her face, his penis beating warmly in her hand. His finger sank into her, and she moaned. His smile widened, and he swirled it around the lip of her edge, slowly gaining speed, creating friction. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out.

Her hand was wet with him now; it was warm and gooey on her skin, like honey. His breathing came in ragged gasps. She could sense that he was close. So was she.

Without warning, he swelled in her hand and his face turned beet red. He jerked his hips, and his seed shot out of him, splattering against her bare stomach. The sensation of it hitting her knocked her over the edge, and she quaked as her climax tore through her. She let out a long, low sigh and let go of him so she wouldn't hurt him: Instead she grabbed his thigh and dug her nails in as though if by not doing so she would be swept away.

When it was over, he held her in his arms and peppered her forehead with kisses. She purred contentedly, his love slick against her stomach.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too."

He took a deep breath. "We better get ready."

* * *

 _Get a grip, Loud, damn_.

Lynn ripped open the packaging of a second sports bar and crammed the sweet, sweet protein into her mouth, her cheeks bulging and her teeth tearing and rending. She regretted not getting up earlier and making something meatier, like eggs and steak. Ummm...raw, bloody steak. Lynn smacked her lips. That sounded _really_ fucking good.

She was leaning against the kitchen counter. She usually sat at the dining room table with everyone else, but today they were all getting on her nerves, and it took everything she had not to deck someone. She didn't understand why she was feeling so mean. What's worse: She could hardly control herself. Standing in line, she felt the near irresistible urge to fuck with Lincoln and everyone else; not doing so made her feel...she didn't know...kind of constipated? Was that the word? It was almost painful.

Being pissed for no reason and hardly being able to control it pissed her off even more, and she rammed her elbow back into the edge of the counter. Pain snaked up her arm, and she relished it.

 _What's wrong with me?_

The anger wasn't all. There was the mustache...and the acne. She got pimples here and there like every other teenage girl on the face of the planet, but never acne; her cheeks were covered with red and yellow bumps. It was pretty fucking gross. Then there was...well...maybe she was mistaken, because she didn't make a habit of looking at and feeling up her own chest...but her boobs...they were smaller than they were last night, almost as if they shrank. And her...what did they call it in sex ed? Clitoris? Whatever it was...it was bigger. Not by a lot, but still. She noticed when she woke up this morning and innocently rubbed her legs together: A power pang of desire ripped through her body and she let out a long, trembling "Nngh!" She touched herself occasionally (what teenage girl doesn't?), but today she was hyper aware of it between her legs. Every step she took made the base of her skull tingle.

She swallowed the last of her sports bar and stopped herself in the middle of grabbing another. Her stomach growled. Fuck. She took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at the fridge. She didn't have time to cook an egg...but fuck it. She went to the fridge, opened it, and grabbed an egg from the carton. Throwing her head back, she held it up, cracked it with her hands, and shivered as the yolk plopped into her mouth like cold snot...peppered with bits of eggshell. She swallowed, and it slid down her throat like slime.

She smacked her lips and grabbed another. She broke it and swallowed just like before: There were more eggshells this time around, and they scratched going down. You know, it wasn't half bad!

"Ewwww, what are you _doing?"_

Lynn tossed the remains of the eggshell away and looked at Lori, whose face was screwed up in disgust.

"Eating breakfast," Lynn said, and before she could stop herself, "you got a problem?"

Lori sighed, went to the sink, and dropped her bowl in. Lynn watched as she crossed to the threshold and disappeared into the living room, then took two more eggs from the carton and stuffed them in her pocket...for the walk to school.

* * *

Lincoln pulled his jacket on and stepped onto the porch. It was sunny but cold, a hard wind was blowing from the west and roaring through the trees and pushing dead leaves along the street and sidewalk. As they did every time he was out here, his eyes drifted to the vacant lot next door where just a month ago a house stood. His hand crept to the rosary around his neck, his fingers closing around the plastic, Christ-bearing cross. His mind flashed to that night, and his heart started to pound.

He tried not to think about it, but it was hard sometimes.

When someone spoke behind him, he jumped and turned. Lucy stood before him, her hands behind her back.

She was wearing a ponytail.

"Uh...you going to school like that?"

"Yes," she said. "I figured...I don't know. Has to happen sometime."

In actuality, she still felt bad about earlier, and wanted to make it up to him. What they did really wasn't enough, as far as she was concerned, so...she was sucking it up and wearing her hair in a ponytail today because he liked it.

He smiled. "I said I'd break you down eventually."

She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "You're getting your way because I love you," she said matter-of-factly.

Lincoln smiled radiantly. "I love you too."

Lucy grinned. What they did earlier wasn't sex...but she felt much closer to him nevertheless. After all, what they shared was an intensely private moment, wasn't it? Just as private as the real thing. That made Lucy smile, and as they started down the sidewalk, she slipped her hand into his and rested her head against his arm. He was so warm and soft and...

Something dark and big moved into the sidewalk, and Lincoln came to a sputtering stop, his body going tense. Heart catching, Lucy looked up.

"Well, hi there," a dark voice said.

Lucy blinked. The man (if man it could be called) was over six feet tall with wide shoulders, his face nestled in the shadow of his hat brim. She could see the vague outline of eyes and a nose. His big, tooth filled smile, on the other hand, stood out brightly.

A strange tingle touched her brain, but it was gone in a second. Next to her, Lincoln trembled.

"You kids look like you could use some...help." He knelt and Lucy's heart started to race. Even though the sun should have shone directly onto his face, it was still lost in shadows, though she could see his eyes more clearly.

They were the eyes of a corpse.

A shiver raced down her spine.

"W-We're fine," she stammered.

"Oh?" the man's smile somehow got bigger. "You don't need anything?" He looked at Lincoln for a moment, then back at Lucy. "You two are awfully young – and awfully related – to be thinking about _that_ , aren't you?"

His breath was cold and smelled like rotten eggs.

 _Sulfur,_ Lucy thought hysterically, _the stench of Satan._

He reached one massive hand into his trench coat and pulled something out. It was a tiny bottle of lotion. He held it out to Lucy. "To...loosen things up a bit."

Lucy couldn't have taken it even if she wanted to; she was frozen in fear.

The man's smile faltered, and he turned to Lincoln. "Here you go, son. Rub a little bit of this on and you'll be in business." He held it out, and Lincoln took it, his arm moving and his hand clutching robotically. The man looked at Lucy again, and she swallowed hard. "You're a strange little girl," he said soberly, "and I don't like it."

He rose up to his full height and tipped his hat. "Have a splendiddilytastic day."

Lucy watched in shock as he simply disappeared.

Next to her, Lincoln shuddered. "Gee, it's cold."

She turned to look at him. He was holding a bottle of lotion in his hand and looking at it with furrowed brows. "What's this?"

Sputtering, Lucy knocked it out of his hand. "Leave it alone!"

He looked at her. "What's your problem?"

"N-Nothing," she lied. "Let's go."

She tossed a nervous glance over her shoulder. Though the sidewalk was empty, she had the uncanny feeling of being watched.


	7. Getting Worse

There's a saying: Too much of a good thing is a bad thing. Kind of funny, isn't it? Too much chocolate ice cream _bad?_ Ha! Whoever came up with that probably didn't have too much of anything and was just jealous.

At least that's what Luna believed until today. It started out well enough: Sam was waiting by the front doors when Luna got to school. When Sam saw her, her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and Luna giggled goofily. Man, she's beautiful!

"I missed you so _much_ ," Sam said, throwing her arms around Luna's neck and kissing her, which honestly surprised Luna. She didn't expect Sam to be so...open. At least not at first.

"I missed you too," Luna said.

Holding hands, they went inside, Sam smiling from ear-to-ear. When they reached Luna's locker, she tried to take her hand back, but Sam wouldn't let go. "Can't do it one-handed?" she teased.

"Bet'cha I can."

"Prove it."

Luna opened her locker and grabbed her books with one hand...and her shoulder. At Sam's locker, Sam did the same.

It was 7:45, five minutes before the first bell. Luna had just enough time to pee before heading to her first class. At the girls' room, she tried to take her hand back again, but Sam held on tighter. "Uh...bro," Luna said, "I gotta pee."

"Okay," Sam beamed.

Together they went into the bathroom. At one of the stalls, Luna yanked her hand out of Sam's death grip and went inside, pulling her underwear down and lifting her skirt. Sam stood outside the whole time, peeking in the cracks.

"Are you almost done?"

"Almost."

When Luna was done, she wiped, flushed the toilet, and opened the door, only for Sam to pull her into a hug. "I missed you!"

"Uh...I was literally just peeing."

"I still missed you. Get over it."

They had the first class of the day together, and every couple of minutes Sam would whisper something to Luna...usually something sexual. "I'm so horny for you," she said at one point, then proceeded to grab her crotch with one hand and throw her other arm into the air like she was riding a mechanical bull. Luna snickered, and laughed out loud when the teacher yelled at her.

"Sorry," Sam said, "I was just telling Luna what I'm going to do to her later."

The entire class erupted in laughter, and Luna's cheeks burned. Wow, that's, uh...that's actually kind of embarrassing.

They did not have their next class together, and the whole time they were apart, Sam kept texting...and texting...and texting. The teacher caught Luna looking at her phone and threatened to take it away, so she put it on silent and slipped it into her pocket. When class was over, she had fifteen texts from Sam _and_ a missed call. What the fuck?

At lunch, they sat together, which was normal. What _wasn't_ normal was the way Sam acted when anyone tried to talk to Luna. "She _has_ a girlfriend," she would say even though no one was even hitting on Luna. The whole time Sam sat on Luna's lap and ran her fingers through her hair, which was rad. Luna really dug that. She didn't dig it when she turned her head to talk to someone who asked her a question, and Sam grabbed her by the chin and forced her attention back on her.

"Can you at least wait until I'm not around to start talking to some guy?" she asked seriously.

"Dude, chill," Luna said, "Kevin asked me..."

"If you wanna fuck Kevin, fine." Sam got up and dropped heavily in the seat next to Luna. "Go on. Get the dick from him you can't get from me."

Kevin glanced over, his brows raised. He started to say something, but just shook his head.

Luna was speechless. Sam simply crossed her arms and looked away. Was...was she _serious?_ "Look, I was just..."

Sam held her hand up. "I'm fine. Go suck him off and drink his cum."

A shocked chuckle escaped Luna's lips. "Really? Sam, you're acting..."

Sam's head whipped around, her eyes wide. "Acting like what, Luna? Just because I don't like my girlfriend disrespecting me by practically having sex with someone right in front of my face?"

Luna snapped. _"I was talking to the guy! Goddamn!"_

"Luna's cool and all, but I'm not attracted to her," Kevin said, "so you're safe."

"Fuck you, dick," Sam said, and got up. "And fuck you too, Luna."

"Wow," Kevin laughed.

Luna sat helplessly by as Sam stormed out of the cafeteria, a mixture of shock, hurt, and anger bubbling in her stomach. She was mad because Sam was acting like a goddamn nutcase (less than 24 hours into their relationship, too!), and scared because she loved Sam and didn't want her to be mad at her.

Just before lunch was over, Luna's phone buzzed. "I'm sorry," Sam texted, "I just love you and the thought of losing you scares me."

"Sam...I've loved you since the moment I saw you...I don't want anyone else, male or female. You don't have to worry about that. It's not cool that you flipped like that though."

A minute later Sam replied. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Luna smiled to herself. "Of course. See you in class."

In class, Sam was smiling and happy again to Luna's great relief. She put the strange incident in the cafeteria out of her mind, but deep down it still nagged her. That was some serious jealousy. And possessiveness. Luna stole a glance at her girlfriend...her warm, blonde hair, her pert nose, her sensuous lips, her delicate throat around which hung a heart pendant...what was she thinking about again? Oh, yeah, that was actually kind of scary. Luna loved Sam, but if that's how she was going to be...

 _Just forget about it._

After school, they walked hand-in-hand to Sam's house. The moment they were inside, Sam was all over her, and Luna completely forgot about the scene in the cafeteria.

* * *

No matter what she did, Lucy Loud couldn't get her mind off the demon. That's what it was. Oh, it looked like a man, but men don't smell like sulfur and vanish right in front of you. Other people might have questioned their sanity in a situation like this, but not Lucy. She'd had plenty of...experiences over the years. Sometimes she talked to the spirit of Grandma Harriet, and sometimes she knew things before they happened; there were times when she finished someone's sentence when it wasn't obvious what they were going to say next, and more times than she could count she thought of a song or a certain episode of a TV show, only to turn on the radio or the TV and find it playing. Grandma Harriet said she had it too when she was alive, as did _her_ grandmother, who called it "The Shining." A person who was more...logical...would assume that they were going crazy, or that their brain was being devoured by a fast moving cancer. Lucy, thankfully, did not have to jump through those hoops. She knew she had seen something otherworldly, and she knew enough about the paranormal to know it was a demon. Ghosts don't smell like sulfur. Demons do. Ghosts don't breathe stale, dead air in your face. Demons do.

Just because she was 'in the know' didn't mean she wasn't scared shitless. She was. If a demon was walking around in the guise of a man, it was _very_ powerful. She thought back to its wide, deadly smile and to the way her brain tingled. It was trying to read her mind, but couldn't because of her shining.

It read Lincoln's, though, and it knew about their...ahem...problem. That lotion...god...what _was_ it? The number one rule of demonology (okay, maybe the number five or six rule) is: Never accept anything from a demon. Demons enjoy human suffering and will cause it wherever they can. If they offer you something, chances are it's cursed and will bring you shuddered at the thought of what might have happened had either she or Lincoln tried to use it.

Just before lunch, as the teacher droned on and on about qualifiers and decibels, Lucy's head started to hurt. It was a hot, throbbing pinprick that started in the center of her forehead and spread throughout her entire skull. The harsh florescent lights and the teacher's voice made it worse. She felt as if something was living in her head and trying to break free. She buried her face in her hands and closed her eyes, and that's when the first vision hit her: The back of her house, as vivid and clear as day. She could see the cracked siding panel, the stair step cracks in the foundation, the weeds growing up next to the porch. She could also _feel_ : Cold, throbbing hatred.

When she opened her eyes, her heart was racing and her stomach roiled. She gripped the edges of the desk with shaky hands and shuddered as a chill passed over her like a dark shadow. She blinked, and in the void she saw hands opening and closing...big, unlined palms with crooked fingers. A single phrase ran through her mind. _Get the girl...get the girl...get the girl..._

At lunch, she sat next to Lincoln, who was just as bright and buoyant as ever. She tried to smile and engage with him like normal, but things were _not_ normal. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that she had seen through the thing's eyes...and tapped into its thoughts. Cold, she wrapped her arms around her aching chest.

"You alright?" Lincoln asked worriedly at one point.

"I'm fine," she said. "I just...I think I'm coming down with a cold."

He rubbed her back in slow, lazy circles, and despite the vise of fear clamped over her soul, she smiled. She laid her hand on his leg and squeezed. "You're a good brother," she said.

He shrugged. "I try."

"You succeed."

She didn't have another vision until the end of the day. The clock was counting down to the final bell and she was trying to finish her homework when she blinked, and found herself staring into her own kitchen through a window. She saw her father sitting at the table with Lilly in his lap and the house phone cradled between his shoulder and the side of his head. She couldn't hear him over the sound of the demon's voice.

 _Henpecked wimp, he could use a set of balls, that's what he needs, nuts, testies, a big, swinging sack to put the Mrs. in her place. I got what you need, pops, just step outside and..._

Her mind filled with red and panic burst through her. She gasped and opened her eyes, her arms wrapping themselves around her chest.

After the bell rang, she walked to her locker on gelatinous legs and opened it with jittery fingers. She shoved her books in and took her jacket out. Fear still throbbed in her stomach, but it wasn't hers...at least not entirely.

It was the demon's.

Somehow they were connected, and she could feel its fear.

Its fear of _her_.

In a flash, it hit her. Whatever was going on with Lynn was the demon's fault. It was doing something to her, making her more aggressive. It had attached itself to her family and they were _all_ in danger.

 _But it's scared of me because I blocked it out and I can see into its mind._

Her knees gave out and she collapsed against her locker. She had to do something...if she didn't, bad, bad, _bad_ things would happen, not only to Lynn but to everyone else. To her sisters. To her parents. To _Lincoln_.

When she met her brother outside, he instantly knew something was wrong. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes pooling with concern.

"No," she confessed, and stepped into his arms. She trembled against him.

"What is it? Are you sick?"

She clutched him tightly for a moment, drawing strength and warmth from him, then stepped back. "We have a problem. A _major_ problem."

He blinked. "What?"

Lucy took a deep breath. "Something's happening...something strange...something like last month."

* * *

Lynn Loud slammed her locker, then punched it as hard as she could, denting it. The metallic crunch echoed up and down the halls, and the few kids who still hadn't left turned to look at her. She didn't care though. Fist still touching the cold steel, she bowed her head and took big, heaving breaths, a tight ball of wrath heavy in her stomach like lead.

They kicked her off her teams.

They made her piss in a cup and then said she was on steroids. _THAT WAS BULLSHIT!_ She didn't take drugs! Never had, never would. She didn't _need_ steroids, she was the best all on her own. It was a set-up... _A FUCKING SET-UP!_

She panted like an animal, her vision blurring with rage. It was a preliminary test, they said; they were sending her urine to a lab to have a more thorough work-up, but since she was positive, they took her off her teams in the meantime... _OFF HER GODDAMN TEAMS!_

Lynn flashed and slammed her fist against the locker again, denting it even more. Pain snaked up her arm but she didn't care. In fact, she liked it.

So she did it again...and again...imagining it was Coach Matheson's face...Principal Bradbury's balls...Nurse Bloch's stupid blonde head...

"This is _bullshit,"_ Lynn muttered. "FUCKING BULLSHIT!"

Her voice rang through the halls.

She was the best goddamn player this school had. _She_ was the reason they went to state last year. _She_ was the reason they won week in and week out. _Her_ and no one else. Before she came along, every one of this school's teams was a fucking joke. They got trounced every single time they dared step onto a field or a court. They were just jealous. They wanted her off because they knew she made them look bad. She made it clear that it was their incompetent coaching that lost them every game.

Fuck these assholes. She oughta come in with a gun tomorrow and blow all their fucking heads off. She grinned savagely as she imagined walking into Principal Bradbury's office and opening fire. She saw it like a vision. He was sitting behind his desk, a big fat man with glasses who looked suspiciously like Principal McVicker from _Beavis and Butt-Head_. He looked up, saw her, and his eyes widened. She lifted the gun, pulled the trigger, and he fell back with a scream.

If only she had one.

Shaking, she threw the locker a parting shot and took off down the hall. She did not have her gym bag and she did not have her books. She did have homework, but you know what? Fuck their homework. If they wanted to take her off her teams, she would take herself out of their fucking stupid curriculum. Assholes.

She slammed through the double doors. The day was bright and cold, a chilly wind stirring leaves in front lawns across the street. Lynn was so mad that she didn't feel the cold against her bare arms. She had a jacket but she left it...somewhere. Who fucking cared?

Fucking bullshit!

With a sigh, she started down the sidewalk, her fingers unconsciously touching the mustache creeping across her upper lip. That and the acne is what tipped Coach Matheson off. _I know the physical effects of steroids when I see them,_ she said all haughtily, her hands on her big, fat lesbian hips. _You, Lynn Loud, are taking steroids._

Lynn shook with rage at the memory. She threw a punch at the air. Fucking bitch! If I only...

At the corner, a big man in a trench coat and hat stepped out from behind a tree and blocked her way. Lynn stopped, adrenaline spurting into her system. Her fists unconsciously clenched. "You want some, you fucking pedo?" she asked angrily.

Though the man's face was lost in shadows, Lynn could see his wide, tooth-filled smile. "I'm here to help...if you'll let me."

"Yeah?" Lynn asked. "How the fuck are you gonna do that?"

The man took a step forward, and Lynn's body tensed. He was a _big_ dude, but she was pissed and full of energy. She could take him.

"A little birdy told me someone done did you wrong." He laughed. "A lot of injustice in this world, huh?"

Lynn nodded. "You got _that_ right."

"Makes you mad...doesn't it?"

"Yeah, _really_ fucking mad."

He loomed forward like a tree getting ready to crash down. "Makes you want to serve up a little payback...right?"

"Yeah. It does."

Grinning, the man reached into his coat and brought something out.

It was a revolver.

He held it by the barrel and handed it to her butt-first. Lynn's brow furrowed.

"Go on," he tempted, "take it. Make them sorry they ever fucked with you."

An evil smile touched Lynn's lips. She took the gun. It felt good in her hand. Heavy. It felt like...power.

"Tomorrow," the man said, "...tomorrow."

Lynn nodded. "Tomorrow."

The man laughed.

And Lynn laughed too.


	8. Now the Fun Begins

**Guest: That Lincoln and Lori idea is pretty good. I just might use that. I still need to write a good Lincoln and Lori ship and not pretend I'm AberrantScript while I'm doing it (and make it longer than 6 or 7 thousand words). Thanks for the suggestion.**

 **MS Darek: You have no idea how hard I laughed at that comment.**

* * *

On their walk home, Lucy told Lincoln everything, his hand tightening around hers when she began to stammer. By the time she was finished, they were turning onto Central Street, which was a rush of gas stations, fast food joints, cheap motels, and low-rent shopping centers. Franklin Avenue was three streets over, on the edge of Royal Woods' residential district.

"Don't you remember this morning? The lotion?"

He remembered Lucy smacking a bottle of lotion from his hands...but, come to think of it, he didn't remember how he got it. One minute it wasn't there...then the next it was. He told her this, and she nodded. "It messed with your mind."

"How come it didn't mess with yours?"

"It tried," she said, shrugging one shoulder.

"Tried?"

She nodded. "I..." she sighed. She hadn't told anyone else about what Grandma Harriet said she had, not even her beloved Lincoln...everyone already thought she was weird enough already without _that_ bombshell. Plus it wasn't that important. It's not like she could control it, and it didn't happen all the time, just here and there. She looked up at Lincoln and sighed. They _did_ fight an actual vampire not thirty days ago, didn't they?

So, she told him, and he listened. When she was finished, he took a deep breath. His mind raced, and fear bubbled in his stomach like cold slime. "What does it want?" he finally asked.

"To watch us suffer."

Lincoln gulped. "How can we stop it?"

"I don't know," Lucy said. "I have to read up on it."

When they got home, Lucy went to her room while Lincoln went to his. After a few minutes, she came in with a big leather-bound hardback book and sat on the bed, her back against the wall. Lincoln slid in next to her as she opened it. The pages were stiff and yellowed with age. On one of the first, he saw an ornate drawing of a creature with ram's horns and a horse's face. It was sitting Indian style with its hands up in some kind of weird yoga pose. Five pointed stars surrounded it.

Lincoln shuddered. "What _is_ this?"

"The Book of Arcane Knowledge," Lucy said evenly. "It's like _The Necronomicon_ and _The Forbidden Book_ but not as mind-blastingly terrifying."

Lincoln gulped. "You mean there are books out there more terrifying than _this_ one?" He'd only seen a few pages, and he was already so creeped out that goosebumps were racing up and down his arms.

"Yes," Lucy said, reverently turning a page. "There's a copy of _The Necronomicon_ at Miskatonic University in Massachusetts, and they keep it under lock and key."

"T-That bad, huh?"

Lucy nodded. "Extremely bad."

Sheesh.

As Lucy paged through the book, Lincoln watched, hoping against hope that the drawings wouldn't haunt him in his sleep. Finally, she reached a section and stopped. "Hm," she said, "this looks promising."

Lincoln leaned in. Curly, gothic writing spelled the word TRICKSTERS. On the facing page was a drawing of a hideous creature with gaping eye sockets and a wide maw crammed with jagged teeth. It was wearing a white robe and a strange white, gold trimmed hat. Its outfit was familiar, and it took Lincoln a moment to place it: It was dressed as a cardinal. Or was it a bishop? Something like that. He doubted it was a man of God either way.

Lucy bent her head over the page and began to read. "In the annals of human folklore, mythology, and religious studies, there are countless cases of tricksters – spirits, animals, demonic projections, and even human begins – who possess great intellect, arcane wisdom, and otherworldly powers – and whose very existence, it would seem, is dedicated to causing mischief among men."

She wetted her lips, glanced at Lincoln, then back at the page. She hoped he didn't think she was a weirdo for having this book. Of all the things she had ever read, this was the only that she specifically and intentionally hid from her family.

"Among these is the mimic, who prefers to imitate the voice or even the appearance of someone known to its victim. It will often knock on doors after dark and ask to be let in. He who opens the door will surely perish."

A chill ran through Lincoln's body and he hugged himself. He accepted every word Lucy spoke as fact, and terror blossomed in his stomach.

"Oh!" Lucy said excitedly, "look at this! Look at this! 'Another of these tricksters, present in the mythologies of nearly every culture is the spirit, demonic in nature, who offers its victims whatever it is they desire, often employing potions, cursed objects, and spells. The victim's desire is then twisted. The most well-known instance of this is of the character Al-had Muzark from the Arabic fable _The Genie_ who is given one wish, which he then uses to wish for unlimited wishes. His heart's desire, as it were, was to have more wishes. He is granted this wish – by being turned into a genie and trapped in a magic lamp, doomed to mete out unlimited wishes but never to enjoy a single one."

"This is a really creepy book, Lucy," Lincoln said.

"I know," she said.

"Thank God you have it."

She scanned the next page, looking for tips and tricks to use against the demon.

"Does it say how to fight it?"

"Just the usual stuff," Lucy said simply.

"What's that?"

"Salt, iron, holy objects, spells."

"Well...what about Lynn? What did it do to her? And how do we stop it?"

Lucy closed the book and looked at him. "I have an idea, but I don't think it'll be easy, and I don't know if it'll work."

"What is it?"

Grabbing the book, Lucy stood up. "I'm going to stick this back in my room. Meet me in the garage. We're taking our bikes."

"Where?"

"You'll see. And can you grab a couple of those reusable water bottles from the cabinet, please?"

"Luce, what do you have in mind?" he pressed.

She grinned. "Love you."

Lincoln sighed. Whatever.

* * *

The Man With No Name walked through the rapidly dwindling afternoon light. He was cold...and not because of the wind.

The girl.

The fucking black haired, pale faced Vampira looking bitch blocked him out... _and entered his mind._ He felt it when it happened, a warm, alien tingle in the front of his skull like the phantom teeming of a million maggots. The world went black, and for a brief moment all he could see was her face: That pig nose, that wide chin, those stupid bangs in her eyes. Who was she? _What_ was she? He didn't know. He had never encountered someone like her.

And it scared him...which made him mad. He wasn't used to being scared. He should have no _reason_ to be scared. He was The Bogeyman, Abezethibou, Danjal, Ifrit, Astoteph...he was the king of the desert...he shouldn't have to be afraid.

Yet he was. More than that, he was terrified. There was something in that girl, some power, a righteous power, and it was _great_. Josef Stalin once said of Marshall Tito: I will wiggle my little finger and there will be no more Tito.

That girl was his Stalin.

He laughed harshly. And he didn't even know her name. He knew her brother's name. Lincoln, like the president. In the boy's mind, he saw him and his sister that morning, the tip of his penis _juuuust_ inside of her and her face screwed up in pain. He knew the boy's thoughts, his frustrations, but when it came to the sister...nothing. Not her name, not her age, not her hobbies or her passions or anything else. He saw her face in the boy's mind...but everything else was beyond reach. From the way she was dressed, she was one of those posers who hangs out at Hot Topic and writes godawful poetry about how dark and dour life is. Ha! Those were the types who broke down when they realized they were going to die. They were all tough and badass, but when the hammer dropped, they reverted back to the scared little children they really were.

How did she get into his head? That's the part that bothered him the most. He had theories (oh, he could come up with those all day long), but he just didn't know. All of this was beyond anything he had ever experienced.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't natural.

And it would end tonight...

* * *

 _Tonight..._

 _Tonight..._

 _Tonight..._

That one word ricocheted through Lucy's head like a bullet. She blinked, and glanced

over at Lincoln, who was parked at the corner beside her. Cars rushed by in the street, and the pedwalk sign blinked red.

Tonight.

The thing was going to come for them tonight. It was aware of her ability...and it was afraid of her.

Lincoln sensed something was up. "You okay?"

 _Tonight..._

"It's going to come for us," Lucy said, surprised to hear a tremble in her voice, "tonight."

Lincoln's face paled.

Lucy took a deep breath. She had to be strong. Lincoln needed her. And so did the rest of her family...the people she loved most...the _only_ people she loved. "It's alright," she said truthfully, "we can fight it. First we have to worry about Lynn."

Whatever the demon did to her, it was getting worse, and if they didn't stop it, she would be lost.

The light changed. Instead of a red flashing hand it was a steady white picture of two people. "Come on," Lucy said, "it's just up here." She pushed off and peddled across the street, Lincoln falling in behind her. A few people moved out of the way as they passed Rankin's Hardware, The Union Hotel, the town bank, and Greene's Butchers. At the next corner, Lucy hung a left. Up ahead was a wide gothic building with spires and stained glass windows. A big sign out front announced it as OUR LADY OF PERPETUAL SUFFERING CATHOLIC CHURCH. Lucy didn't know why Our Lady was always suffering...indigestion, maybe?

She slowed to a stop and jumped off her bike at the bottom of the big stone staircase leading up to the double doors. Lincoln came to a stop behind her and got off, then removed his helmet while looking up at the church's vaulted façade. "What are we here for?" he asked.

"Remember those water bottles I had you grab?"

"Yeah."

"Give me one."

He opened his backpack and took one out, handing it to her. "Get the other two." He did, holding one in each hand.

"Okay."

"Come on."

Lucy went up the stairs and waited at the top for Lincoln. When he was with her, she opened one of the doors, and they went into the vestibule. Ahead, the nave opened before them: Gleaming pews flanked either side of a wide aisle headed by the altar. A massive cross loomed over the space, a bronze statue of Christ, his arms spread and his head thrown back, keeping eternal watch. Lincoln shivered.

"Here," Lucy said lowly, her voice echoing. She went over to a stone font, twisted the cap off the water bottle, and then held it under the water. Lincoln came over, looking nervously around. "Isn't this stealing?" he asked.

"No," Lucy said, filling the bottle. The water in the font bubbled. "That's why it's here."

"Will-Will this work on a demon?"

"It should," Lucy said. "I'm more worried about it working on Lynn, though."

Lincoln's brow furrowed. "Lynn?"

"Yes." She took the bottle out, dried it off with her sleeve, then twisted the cap back on. She handed it to Lincoln and took one of the other bottles. She took the cap off and held it under the water like she had the first. "I don't know for sure, but I think it's almost like she's possessed. It gave her something or put some kind of spell on her. It has a hold on her. And we're going to break that hold."

"By splashing holy water on her?"

Lucy didn't reply for a moment. "Not exactly."

When the second bottle was filled, she handed it to Lincoln and took the third.

"Then how?"

"The hard way," Lucy sighed cryptically.

Lincoln had no idea what 'the hard way' meant. What, were they going to give her a holy water enema? Oh, God, please tell me we aren't going to give her a holy water enema. Just because I'm in love with one of my sisters doesn't mean I want to see another one naked. Or put a tube up her butt.

Lincoln shuddered.

"Alright," Lucy said, putting the cap back on the bottle. "Now we need to stop at the store."

"For what?"

"Salt," Lucy said. "Lots and lots of salt."

"Why salt?" he asked as they left the church.

"Because salt repels evil spirits," she explained. "It's a purifier."

"Why?"

They were climbing onto their bikes now. "Lincoln...you're worse than a three-year-old."

"This is all new to me," he said, sitting astride his bike. "You're, like, the queen of this stuff and I'm like...a guy who doesn't know much about it."

"Well...different cultures have different explanations. Salt is mentioned and used as a purifier in the Bible and in Buddhism. Why, I don't know. I'm not really an expert."

"I think you're an expert," he said. "And I'm glad you're...you."

Lucy smiled.

From the church, they biked back to Main Street, where they stopped at a corner market. A Middle Eastern man with a thick mustache sat behind the counter with his arms crossed. He watched them suspiciously as they searched for the salt. Strange Arabic music filtered through unseen speakers. All Lincoln heard was "Aylaaalaaalalalalala, b-huhhhhh, nahoooooo!" It could have been a religious hymn or a Top 40 hit from Pakistan and he wouldn't have known the difference.

"Ah, here," Lucy said. The salt sat at the end of a shelf near a stack of Budweiser cases. There were four tubular containers, each bearing a picture of a young girl walking in the rain with an opened umbrella and scattering salt behind her. Lincoln knew salt melted snow, but, uh, what was it supposed to do to rain?

Lucy grabbed all four containers and carried them in crossed arms to the counter. The cashier looked at her strangely, then rang up the purchase. "Seven dollar."

Lucy reached into her pocket and brought out a ten. She handed it to the cashier, who put the salt into a bag and handed it to her.

"Alright," Lucy sighed as she climbed onto her bike, "now the fun begins."

* * *

She couldn't stand to be away from her Luna. Each moment apart was a gnawing agony in the pit of her stomach, and not metaphorically either; ten minutes after Luna left, Sam curled up on her bed and wrapped her arms around her chest. Her breathing was ragged. Her heart was racing. A spasm of pain hit her, and she hissed through clenched teeth. _God...make it stop, make it stop!_ She began to rock gently back and forth, tears springing to her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Is this what being in love is supposed to feel like? She called up a vision of Luna's face, and the pain intensified; she cried out and hugged herself harder. The sound of Luna's voice echoed in her head, and the pain got worse. She was sweating now. The taste of Luna's lips lingered on hers, and the pain became so excruciating that she lost consciousness.

In her dream, she was in Luna's house. Shadows hung heavy like smoke, and the back of her neck prickled with the uncanny. Her feet moved of their own violation, and she ascended the stairs, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. She didn't know why, but she didn't want to go up there.

At the head of the stairs, she paused and listened. She could hear the muffled sound of voices drifting from behind a closed door; a crack of light shone from underneath. Her breath caught, and she went to it, turning the knob and pushing it open.

What she saw horrified her.

Luna was lying in bed with her legs open, her arms thrown behind her tilted head and her teeth clamped down on her pillow. A man was on top of her, thrusting. Other men watched. Five. Ten. A hundred. They were all naked...and erect.

Sam's heart stopped, and she leaned heavily against the doorframe.

Luna cried out, and the man got off, only to be replaced by another.

 _No._

Pain exploded in her stomach, and she cried out as she sank to her knees. Tears burst from her eyes, and she wept silently; Luna and the men did not notice her, or did not acknowledge her if they did.

 _No...Luna...please..._

A hand fell upon her shoulder, and she jerked.

" _She's not yours for very long,"_ a voice said, _"but, hey, you had fun, right?"_

"I-I _love_ her," Sam sobbed.

" _She loves you too...for now. In a week? Who's to say?"_

"Please..."

 _"There's a way you can keep her...forever...if you want."_

"I do! God, I love her so much!"

Dark laughter filled her head. _"Then here's what you do..."_

And the demon told her.


	9. Demons

Lucy knew what she was doing; she was an expert on this sort of thing, even if she was too humble to admit it. Lincoln, therefore, followed her instructions to the letter and without question.

They started by the front porch, each tipping their salt container and walking slowly backwards around the perimeter of the house, meeting at the back patio. Next, they scattered salt in front of the doors and along the first floor window sills. Lana and Lola were holding a tea party in the backyard (an outdoor tea party in November? Really?), and they watched them with quizzical expressions.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Lola finally asked, crossing her arms haughtily over her chest.

"Making sure no ants get in the house," Lucy said.

Lola stuck out her tongue. "Good. Ants are gross."

"No, they aren't," Lana said. "They taste like hotdogs."

Lola gagged. "Jesus, Lana, you're sick."

Lana laughed and laughed.

"Don't disturb the salt," Lucy said, using her index finger to push some into the cracks along one of the sills. "Or we'll be infested."

When they were done, they went inside, Lucy to the basement and Lincoln upstairs. His mission was to scatter salt on all the second story sills, not an easy task considering all of his sisters were home and none of them particularly liked him just waltzing into their rooms and throwing salt around like the Morton salt girl. He started in his room, then went to the bathroom. With that out of the way, he took a deep breath and knocked on Lori's door.

"What?" she asked sharply.

Lori was the worst one about not wanting him in her room. Thinking back to what Lucy told Lana and Lola, he said, "I need to come in...we, uh, have a bug problem."

"Ew! What?"

Lincoln opened the door and poked his head in. Lori was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her phone forgotten in her hands. She looked at him with disgust. "Bugs?"

"I hope they're not spiders," Leni said from her vanity, where she was bent over a new dress design, her tongue plastered to her upper lip in concentration. "I _hate_ spiders."

"It's ants," Lincoln said, "but, uh, maybe some spiders too."

Leni shuddered.

"I just need to put some salt on the outside of your window sill," Lincoln said, "it'll keep them out of your room."

"Fine," Lori said, bending back over her phone, "I would _literally_ lose it if ants got in here."

Lincoln's eyes darted to the dirty plate and sticky, nasty glass sitting on her nightstand. If you were _really_ afraid of ants you'd clean this place up once in a while, he thought. Instead of speaking, he went over to the window by Lori's bed, lifted the sash, and sprinkled salt along the bottom of the screen. When he was done, he closed the sash then went over to the window by Leni's bed and did the same thing. "Lincy?" Leni asked.

"Yeah?"

"Like...what _kind_ of spiders?"

"None now that the salt's on your window."

Leni brightened. "Thank you, Lincy!"

"What are brothers for?"

In the hall, he looked around. Lisa's room, he decided, would be next. How could he con his second youngest sister? She was a literal genius, after all, and he was...well...not.

Although...

He went to her door and knocked.

"Enter."

Lincoln opened the door. Lisa was sitting at her desk, an assortment of beakers, test tubes, and other scientific equipment arrayed before her. "Yes?" she asked without turning.

"Uh...Mom needs you in the basement. There's, uh, some kind of, like, mold and she wants you to identify it or something."

Lisa sighed. "This goddamn house is falling apart." She got up and adjusted her glasses. "Keep an ear out for Lilly, please, she's napping."

"Sure thing," Lincoln grinned widely. When Lisa was gone, he looked at the window. Her lab was in the way. Damn it. Moving quickly, he dragged her chair to the side, climbed on, and leaned carefully over the table. He pulled back the blinds and sprinkled salt along the inside of the sill. It would have to do: If he tried to open the window, he'd probably fall onto the table, destroy Lisa's life work, and get covered in hot, corrosive acid in the process. No thanks.

Done, he replaced the chair and started out the door, but Lisa appeared and blocked his way. She looked annoyed. "Lincoln, you lying bastard..."

Lincoln smiled nervously as Lisa loomed forward, her fists clenched. "I, uh, I just wanted you to, you know...get some exercise...sitting at your desk all day isn't good for your back."

He started creeping past.

"Lincoln...I appreciate your concern for my lumbosacral region, but whether or not I develop chronic pain from sitting at my desk all day or not is my business and not yours. Go...read one of your comics or something." She shooed him with her hands.

"Okay, thanks!"

She slammed the door behind him.

Whew.

He stopped at Lynn's door, but decided to skip her for now. At Luna and Luna's room, he stuck his head in. Luna was sitting on her bed and plucking the strings of her guitar while Luan sat on her bed, a notepad in her lap and her head bent, her ponytail flopped limply over one shoulder.

"Hey, bro," Luna said, "how's it hanging?"

"Good," Lincoln said, "I, uh, I need to put some salt on the outside of your window sill."

Luna's brow furrowed and Luan looked up.

"Why do you need to do that?" Luna asked.

"Some home improvement project Lisa has in mind. I don't know. I'm just the grunt."

Luna shrugged. "Whatever."

He went over to the window between their beds, opened it, and sprinkled salt along the sill. "Hey, Linc?" Luan asked as he worked.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna hear a racist joke?"

Lincoln blinked. "Uh, not partic..."

"The KKK. Get it? They're racist _and_ a joke!"

Lincoln forced a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, good one. Keep it up and by this time next year you'll be on Letterman."

"Uh, Linc, Letterman isn't around anymore."

Right. "Well...whatever they call it now."

He closed the window and hurried out. "Thanks, guys!"

Alright. His room was done, Lori and Leni's room was good, Lisa and Lilly were safe, Luan and Luna...that left Mom and Dad's room and Lynn and Lucy's room. Oh, and Lola and Lana's He went to his parents' room and tried the handle, but it was locked. Really? They lock their door? Come on, we're not _that_ bad!

Whatever. He sprinkled salt along the bottom of the door and ground it into the carpet with his foot so that it wasn't _too_ obvious. He went into Lola and Lana's room, and was relieved when he saw they weren't in. He hurriedly lifted the sash of both windows and put salt along the sill. In the hall, he put his hands on his hips. Okay, so...

"Hey, Linc."

Lincoln jumped and let out a girlish scream, spinning in midair and balling his fists, fully expecting a horrible thing with ram's horns and a horse face (dressed like a bishop, maybe) to be waiting for him with hungry eyes.

It was only Lucy.

"And I was starting to think you were getting used to me," she teased.

"Uh, I'm just...jumpy."

"Yeah, me too," she sighed. She glanced over her shoulder at her door, which was still tightly closed. "Is Lynn in there?"

"I think," Lincoln said. "I haven't seen her. What's your plan?"

Lucy looked at him. "Well..."

When she was finished, he shook his head. "I don't think that's going to work."

"Which part?"

"The part where we have to hold her down."

Lucy nodded in acquiescence. "It's not the best plan, but do you have a better idea?"

Lincoln rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and thought for a minute. "Actually...yes, I do."

"Let's hear it."

He told her, and she nodded. "It might work. Stay here."

She disappeared down the stairs, then came back with a glass. She went into Lincoln's room, grabbed one of the water bottles, and filled the glass half way. Lincoln watched, his arms crossed. "Alright," she said, "let's try."

They went to Lynn and Lucy's door, Lincoln's heart beginning to race. If what Lucy suspected was true, Lynn would be even worse than she was this morning, and she was kind of a bitch this morning. It wouldn't surprise him if she tried to whack one of them with a baseball bat.

Lucy's face was expressionless, but he could sense that she was nervous too. He squeezed her shoulder and she smiled at him.

She turned the knob and opened the door.

When Lincoln saw Lynn, he gasped.

She was sitting on her bed with a baseball clutched in her hand. Her face was covered in acne...literally covered. Her cheeks, her forehead, her chin, the tip of her nose. There may have been some on her upper lip, he didn't know, because her upper lip was covered in thick brown hair. If it was on its way to being a mustache earlier, it was a mustache and then some now. She looked up, and a dark shadow crossed her face. "What do _you_ two assholes want?"

"We thought you might be thirsty," Lucy said, holding the glass up.

Lynn snickered...then, so quick it was a blur, she wound up and threw the ball: It hit the glass and it exploded, splattering both Lincoln and Lucy with shards and water. Lucy cried out and Lincoln recoiled.

"Get the fuck outta my room," Lynn said darkly. "Lucy...come back later and get your shit. You can stay with your little boyfriend." Lynn fixed her gaze on Lincoln. "And when you want a _real_ woman, come see me."

Lucy pulled the door closed and looked at Lincoln. When he saw the blood in her hand, his stomach turned. "Lucy..."

"That didn't work," she said evenly.

He grabbed her wrist and examined her palm. A glass shard had sliced her down the middle. It wasn't very deep, but it was seeping steadily.

And it was his fault.

His heart clenched. "C-Come on. Let's get that cleaned up."

In the bathroom, Lucy sat on the closed toilet lid while Lincoln rummaged in the medicine cabinet. He took out a cotton swab, some gauze, a tube of Neosporin, a roll of medical tape, and a bottle of alcohol. He knelt in front of Lucy and took her hand in hers. "It's not that bad," she said. "You act like I'll get gangrene."

He shrugged. He pressed the cotton firmly against her hand and held it. He stroked her knuckles with his fingertips and sighed. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. We should have stuck with your plan."

"Eh. Shit happens. I'm just glad she didn't throw it at one of our faces."

"She could have," Lincoln said lowly and bowed his head. An image of Lucy with a broken nose or worse flitted through his mind, and tears welled in his eyes.

"Hey," Lucy said, and touched the side of his face. He looked up at her, and she was wearing an inscrutable smile. "You know what, Lincoln?"

"What?"

"You're a mystery to me."

"Me?"

She nodded. "You. You're beautiful, kind, caring, intelligent...handsome – " here she blushed – "and yet you're so hard on yourself. Why?"

"Well, it's my fault..."

"Lincoln..."

"It _is_."

She sighed. "I love you, Lincoln."

"I love you too."

"Stop being so hard on yourself. You're perfect."

A blush touched his cheeks. "No, I'm not."

"Yes you are."

He took the swab away. The bleeding had stopped. He grabbed the bottle of alcohol, unscrewed the cap, and poured a little bit onto the wound. She hissed. "I know it burns," he said, "sorry." He squirted some Neosporin onto the tip of his index finger and rubbed it on the cut. Next, he pressed the other cotton swab to it and wrapped it in tape. "Flex your hand."

She did. Her movement was limited, but not by much.

"There you go."

She grinned. "Thanks, Lincoln."

She leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. "You're perfect, whether you think so or not."

"Thank you," he said, and patted her leg. "Now...how the hell are we going to do this? Lynn's a monster."

"Well...we're going to need help. Someone who's big and strong."

"Who do we know like that?"

Five minutes later, they were standing by Luna's bed. She wasn't what he had in mind when Lucy said 'big and strong' but she was certainly bigger and stronger than the both of them combined.

"So..." she said uncertainly, "you want me to what?"

Lucy sighed. "Hold Lynn down while we pour water down her throat."

Luna snickered. "Alright, Guantanamo, I'm gonna have to say no to that one. Sorry."

"It's _really_ important," Lincoln pled. "It's a matter of life and death."

Luna sat up straight. "Why?" she asked. "What's this about?"

Lincoln and Lucy looked at each. "Should we tell her?" Lincoln asked.

"Tell me what?"

Lucy shrugged. "I guess we have to." She looked back at Luna, took a deep breath, and told her everything. She crossed her arms and furrowed her brow, but didn't say anything until Lucy was done.

"You guys are crazy."

"I know how it sounds," Lincoln said, "but we're being honest. I _swear_. We have to do this or Lynn might d-die."

Luna watched them with incredulous eyes, then sighed. "Let me see this holy water."

Lucy left, then came back with one of the water bottles. Luna took it, unscrewed the cap, and brought it to her nose. She closed one eye and squinted in. Then she raised it to her lips and took a drink.

"Tastes like regular water to me," she said, putting the cap back on and handing the bottle to Lucy.

"That's because you aren't under a demon's cursed spell," Lucy replied flatly.

Luna tossed one shoulder. "I guess" She searched their eyes. She didn't see deceit, she didn't see mocking laughter. They looked scared. And honest. She sighed. "Alright, fine, I'll help."

"Thank you so much," Lincoln said.

Luna nodded. "So...how are we going to do this?"

"Only one way," Lucy said with a shrug. "We just do it."


	10. The Exorcism of Lynn Loud

Lana Loud kicked the pink plastic folding chair as hard as she could, and it skitted across the grass before falling over. Twilight pooled in the backyard, and the last dying light of the day colored the western horizon a cold pink; a needling wind sprang up, and she shivered. "You're a real asshole, you know that?" she screamed at the patio door. No one answered. She and the fading day were alone. Typical. Lola _always_ bailed when it was time to clean up, and it always fell to Lana to put everything away: All the plastic tea cups, the folding chairs, the folding table, the stuffed animals who served as guests...

She shook her head. _I should have known she'd do this to me._ "Alright, after I pee we'll pack it in for the day," Lana told her sister, then ducked behind the shed to relieve herself. When she came back, surprise, surprise, the glitter whore was gone.

"This is bullshit," Lana muttered to herself as she picked the table roughly up and folded the legs. "I oughta throw this damn thing in Mr. Grouse's yard and let him have it."

When someone spoke behind her, her heart rocketed into her throat. "Looks like you could use some help."

She spun, and her feet tangled: She went down to her knees.

"I guess falling down runs in the family," the man said, and laughed. Lana looked up just as he knelt. His face was black with shadows, and deep down, she wondered if he even _had_ a face.

She started to shake.

"Don't be afraid," the man said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm just going to help you put away your toys...provided you do something for me."

Lana stared into the darkness, and the darkness stared back into her...and filled her; her mind blanked. "What?" she asked in the voice of a drugged woman.

The man grinned and leaned in. "Get a broom...and sweep the salt away from the front door. Can you do that, sweetie?"

Lana nodded robotically.

"Good. Go do it and I'll put away your toys."

Like a marionette on the end of a string, Lana got up and went around front. Dad kept an old broom by the front door specifically for the porch. She picked it up and started to sweep.

In the backyard, The Man With No Name picked the table up in one hand and the chairs in the other, then crossed to the fence and threw them over. Here you go, Mr. Grouse, enjoy your new patio set.

He laughed heartily.

* * *

Lynn watched them from the bed like a trapped animal, her eyes darting from Luna, to Lucy, to Lincoln. She was even on her haunches. "You assholes better get the fuck out of my room right now."

Lincoln's heart was slamming. He tried to tell himself that it was just his sister...just Lynn...who was a little rough around the edges but a real pussycat when it counted...but he was scared shitless. Next to him, Luna put her hands up slowly. "Hey, we just wanna chill. That's all." Lincoln detected a worried note to her voice. The last time she saw Lynn was that morning...before the recent growth of acne and hair.

An idea came to Lincoln, but he shoved it aside, his face turning crimson.

As one, Lincoln, Lucy, and Luna moved in, and Lynn jumped back, her fingers digging into the blanket. "I'll fucking shoot all three of you!"

Lincoln didn't want to do it...god knows he didn't...but he _had_ to. "I, uh, I want a real woman," he said, and flashed a nervous smile. "Remember? You said if I wanted a real woman I should come see you? Well...here I am."

Lynn's eyes flashed with primal lust. "Yeah?" she asked.

Nodding, Lincoln took a cautious step forward. "Yeah, I'm, uh, I'm really hard for you." He patted his crotch. "Uh...come and get it, girl."

Lynn's tongue darted out of her mouth and hung against her bottom lip. "Let me see it," she said huskily.

Lincoln froze. "See it?"

She nodded eagerly.

Luna looked at Lucy, her brow furrowed. Maybe this was going a little too far...

Lynn crawled forward. "Whip it out, Linc. Let me see it."

Goddamn it. The things I do for this family. He unzipped his jeans, reached in, and pulled it out, his face burning. Lynn's eyes widened and she licked her chops like a hungry dog. "It's _big_...and _meaty_."

Luna was blushing now too. She couldn't see Lincoln's...uh...instrument, but she _could_ see the lust in Lynn's eyes, and it wasn't so hard to believe that she was possessed anymore.

"Yeah," Lincoln stammered, "and, uh, it could, you know, be inside of you if you just lay back and..."

His words cut off in a scream when Lynn, fast as quicksilver, reached out, snatched his shirt, and dragged him onto the bed. She threw him against the mattress and fumbled with her shorts, her mustachioed face looming over him. "We're gonna _rut_ , Linc, like two fucking animals!"

Lincoln screamed.

Before Lynn could get her shorts off, however, Luna's forearm wrapped around her neck. Lynn's eyes went wide with fury, and she tried to turn. Lincoln, his heart blasting, rolled off of the bed and onto the floor. Luna, one knee planted on the bed, threw her other arm around Lynn's chest. Lynn thrashed wildly. "Get off of me, bitch! I was about to lose my V card!" She drove an elbow back into Luna's stomach, and her arms released. Lynn shot out and went to the head of the bed. She reached between the mattress and the box spring and brought something out. When Lincoln saw what it was, his body flooded with adrenaline.

A gun.

Lynn lifted it, but, screaming, Lincoln threw himself at her and knocked her arm away; the gun flew out of her hand and landed on the mattress with a muffled thud. Lynn growled and punched him in the face. Hot pain exploded across his field of vision and he fell back, landing hard on the floor.

Lynn dove for the gun, but Luna knocked it away. "Sorry, sis," she said, and smashed Lynn as hard as she could in the ear. Lynn let out a sharp yelp and fell limp against the mattress.

Lincoln was lying on his back, sucking big gulps of air. Lucy knelt beside him, her face a mask of worry. "Are you alright?"

He put one hand to his head. His cheek ached like a bastard, but he didn't taste blood, so there was _that_. "I'm fine," he said, and sat up. Lucy touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said with a trace of a smile, "guess we're even, though."

"That's good, at least."

"Where the hell did she get a _gun?"_ Luna was asking. She was bent over the firearm in question, loath to touch it.

"I don't know," Lucy said, "but we have to hurry. I have a feeling that whatever's going to happen is going to happen soon."

Luna rolled Lynn onto her back while Lucy unscrewed one of the water bottles. "Lincoln," she commanded, "hold one of her arms, and Luna, you hold the other."

Kneeling, Lincoln held one of Lynn's wrists against the mattress while Luna did the same. Lucy stood by the bedside, looking down into her sister's face, a mixture of emotions rushing through her: Fear, anxiety, hope. Lynn got on her nerves sometimes...okay, a lot, but she was the sister Lucy was closest too. She loved her...and you know what? She even liked her. A lot. Lynn was fun and energetic, and even though Lucy was not, she appreciated having Lynn to balance out her personality. Neither one of them was exactly forward with their emotions, but they both opened up to each other now and then, and the other was always willing to listen. For the first time it occurred to Lucy that this might not work and that Lynn would be gone forever. That thought scared her so badly that her hands shook as she lifted the water bottle. _Please work...please be okay. I...I need you._

"Hold her mouth open," she said to Lincoln. He reached up and pulled her chin down.

 _Here goes nothing..._

Lucy upended the bottle, and water poured into Lynn's mouth. Lynn coughed and gagged, her head tilting slightly and some of the water splashing onto her neck. When the bottle was empty, Lucy stepped aside and watched.

Nothing happened.

It wasn't working.

Lucy's heart broke and tears flooded her eyes. She bowed her head and took a deep breath.

"Oh, God!" Luna cried.

Lucy's head whipped up. Luna watched with wide, horrified eyes as white foam bubbled from Lynn's mouth. Lincoln fell back onto his ass, his face a mask of terror. Lucy's heart soared as Lynn began to shake, the foam spilling over and running down the sides of her neck in rivulets. Luna pressed her hands to her mouth when Lynn's body violently convulsed. "Is she okay?" Lincoln asked worriedly.

Lynn's arms flailed, and Lucy caught a hand, threading her fingers through her sister's and squeezing. _Be okay, please, God, be okay..._

"Is she okay, damn it?" Lincoln screamed.

"I don't know!" Lucy admitted.

Lynn's eyelids shot open, and in them Lucy saw darkness. Luna fell back. Lincoln took great, shuddery breaths.

"Come on, Lynn..." Lucy said, "you can beat this."

As if in answer, Lynn sat bolt upright and sucked a mouthful of air. She turned, and Lucy instinctively moved just as a jet of green vomit shot from her sister's mouth and splattered the carpet in front of Lincoln, who gave out a tiny, disgusted cry and crawled backwards.

Lynn bowed her head and hitched as green slime continued flowing from her mouth. Her hair had come loose from her ponytail, so Lucy held it away from her face and rubbed her sister's back. "Let it out...let it all out."

Soon, Lynn was dry retching and making pitiable sounds of agony. She flopped back against the bed, and Lucy's body shook with happiness. The acne and the mustache were gone. Her sister's face was pale, drawn, and haggard...but otherwise normal.

Lincoln smiled. "It worked," he said.

Luna's hands dropped from her mouth and she leaned over Lynn. "What...the...fuck?"

"Told you," Lucy said, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking Lynn's cheek. Her eyes were closed and her breaths were slow and even. Her skin was flushed and sweaty. Lincoln was standing at the bedside now. "W-Will she be okay?"

"I think so," Lucy said. "She needs water, though. Go get –"

Lucy's words died when a dark voice drifted up the stairs. _"Hell-oooooo. Anybody hooooooome?"_


	11. Darkness Falls

A shadow stood on the walkway, its hands in its pockets and its head tilted back. Lights shone in second story windows. The night was preternaturally silent, and a dark tension hung heavy in the air.

The Man With No Name sent his mind forth, but the girl and her brother-lover spread salt on the window sills, and he was not able to enter, which frustrated him. They were craftier than he thought...maybe she wasn't the useless poser he took her for.

Hm. Troubling.

A small voice in the back of The Man's head told him to walk away and leave the stupid bitch alone. She wouldn't follow him; the moment he crossed the town line she would never bother him again.

Instead, he started up the walk, the heels of his boots making a hollow _click_ on the concrete. He paused at the bottom of the stairs and sent his mind through the front door. Inside, a blonde girl sat on a couch, her head bent over a cellphone and her legs drawn up underneath her. Next to her was another girl, this one with braces and a ponytail. Her legs and arms were crossed and her brow was furrowed in concentration. Ah...Comedy Central. That's so _you,_ Luan. Luan shuddered and hugged herself tighter, throwing around a nervous glance as though she had heard him. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and goosebumps raced down her arms. Next to her, Lori shivered. "Why is there a draft?" she asked.

The Man sent his mind through the living room and into the kitchen, where the 'man' of the house was preparing the evening meal, a frilly pink apron over his green sweater. The lights flickered, and he felt a cold, stale breeze. In the basement, the mother was folding laundry. She looked a lot like Lori, only older and more full-figured. She obviously didn't miss many meals...The Man could not say the same for her eldest daughter: Either she had a good metabolism or she shoved her finger down her throat after being excused from the table. Probably the latter. You know how girls are.

Rita shuddered and turned, a flicker of alarm crossing her face. She suddenly had the uncanny feeling of being watched. "Hello?" she asked.

The Man guided his mind up the basement steps, through the kitchen and the living room, then up the stairs to the second floor. A framed photo fell from the wall and landed on one of the treads. Lori and Luan both looked over their shoulders, then at each other, fear passing between them.

Upstairs, The Man found the twins in their room, Lana tending to a frog (her encounter with him already forgotten) and Lola staring at herself in a handheld mirror. Lisa was at her desk, mixing various potions like a dark wizard, and Lilly was asleep in her crib. Leni was at her vanity, hunched over a dress design. When his consciousness entered the room, one of her light bulbs burned out, but she didn't notice. In the final room, he found the girl, her lover, and the final two sisters. Lynn was in a defensive posture on her bed, her body tensed. The other three were approaching her cautiously, the way zookeepers might approach an especially ill-tempered gorilla. _You assholes better get the fuck out of my room right now..._

The Man smiled. That's my girl...

He sent his mind back into the kitchen, where the lights flickered again. Lynn Sr. sensed something behind him and turned. The Man entered through his mouth, and took control of him.

 _Rita needs help in the basement..._

"Rita needs help in the basement," Lynn muttered dazedly, and crossed to the basement door.

The Man took Rita next.

 _It's been so long since you and Lynn have been 'alone' together. Aren't you aroused?_

Rita blinked. Suddenly, yes, she was _extremely_ aroused, her flesh hot and her loins aching for Lynn's touch. When Lynn appeared at the bottom of the stairs, she grinned at him.

 _Isn't she beautiful?_

She _was_ : She was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen, and always had been. Probably always _would_ be.

 _Don't you want to fuck her 'til she cries your name?_

Yes...yes he did.

Rita dropped the shirt she was holding and Lynn stepped into her arms, their lips meeting and their bodies melting together. The Man blinked, and the dryer came on. It was old and on its last legs...it shook and trembled.

 _Sit on it...you'll cum so hard..._

She pulled away from her husband, hurriedly unbuttoned her slacks, and pulled them down her shapely thighs, along with her simple white panties. She stepped out of them and climbed onto the dryer, her legs spread. Lynn pulled out of his pants and underwear and mounted her.

On his way out of the basement, The Man closed the door, then dragged a chair across the kitchen floor and wedged it under the knob.

Calling his mind back, he climbed the porch steps, the wind rising around him and a peal of thunder rolling across a clear night sky. Sudden rain began to fall, and somewhere a dog howled.

 _Ready or not,_ he thought with a wide smile, _here I come._

With a push, the door slammed open...

* * *

 _I have hours, only lonely  
_

 _My love is vengeance  
_

 _That's never free._

That snatch of song had been looping through the girl's mind since she woke an hour before. It wasn't one of her favorite songs, but the lyrics were fitting...very fitting, actually, because her love _was_ vengeance. After all, if she didn't love Luna, would she care enough to do this? Would she _really_ be planning to end her own life if she wasn't madly in love with her? No. She wouldn't. She would simply move onto the next girl...or the next guy. She would shrug her shoulders, say 'Oh well' and find someone else. She _did_ love Luna, though, and the thought of Luna leaving her, which she eventually would, made her sick to her stomach. Without Luna, whose bright eyes and soft smile sustained her, Sam's life had no meaning, no purpose, no sunshine.

Blinking back stinging tears, Sam grabbed the notepad she always kept on her nightstand and uncapped a pen. She thought for a moment, then began to write.

 _Dear Mom and Dad;_

 _I am sorry for what I am about to do, but without Luna, I cannot go on living. She means everything to me. I love her more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. She might love me now, but she won't always. She will find someone better, someone smarter and more attractive. It is only a matter of time. I won't be able to handle it when it happens, so I am going to act now...that way Luna and I can be together forever._

 _Love,_

 _Your daughter Samantha._

She drew a heavy sigh and tossed the notepad onto the bed. She reached into the nightstand drawer and brought out the knife she took from the kitchen. Its blade was cold and steely, and in it she could see her reflection; her eyes were red and haunted and her face was drawn. She looked like a ghost.

She clutched the heart pendent that hung around her neck, and in her mind's eye, she saw Luna bending over while a man thrust into her. She was biting her lower lip and looking back at him with hazy, lust-filled eyes. Her face was flushed and her lank brown hair was plastered to her forehead. She was so beautiful, and it hurt Sam that it was someone else and not _her_ pleasing Luna that way.

With a sigh, she let go of the pendent and clutched the handle of the knife tight in her hand. _I love you, Luna,_ she thought. _I love you with all my heart._

She sat the knife aside, got up, and went to her dresser. She took a black hoodie from a drawer, slipped it over her head, and flipped the hood up. She moved slowly, with the enthusiasm of a death row inmate walking her final mile. Her eyes leaked and her heart throbbed. Her stomach quivered, and she rushed to the bathroom, where she puked into the toilet, one hand automatically flying to her throat and cupping the pendent in the process. Another image came to her: This one of Luna on her back, her hips rising to meet a man's vigorous thrusts. Her eyelids fluttered and her mouth was wide open, a small, breathy moan issuing from her glistening lips. Sam wretched harder and began to sob: Kneeling over the commode, bile dripping from her lips and tears splashing into the bowl, she almost lost her resolve...almost crawled back into her room where she would curl up and cry herself to sleep.

Flushing the toilet, she got shakily to her feet and stumbled back into her room. She grabbed the knife and shoved it into her pocket. Her parents weren't home from work yet, and while she was glad because that would make leaving the house easier, she was also sad that she wouldn't get to see them one last time. It would be better on them this way, though. She was barely holding herself together; she didn't want them to see her this way.

In the living room, her eyes fell on the couch and a memory flashed through her mind: Her and Luna making love to each other on it...two days ago? One? She couldn't remember. In a way, it seemed like yesterday, but in another way, it seemed like months and months ago. Hell, even years. She remembered the happiness she felt, remembered the taste of Luna's lips and the way her heart pounded against her own, and that made her even sadder. Why couldn't she be good enough? Why couldn't she be everything Luna could ever want or need? What was _wrong_ with her?

Whatever the reason, she wasn't good enough for Luna. She wasn't good enough for _anyone_.

An old song (several old songs, actually) said that it is better to burn out than to fade away. Sam never fully understood that sentiment until today. Sure, she got that slowly and gradually fading away was sucky, but standing here in her own living room, wrapped in profound silence and loved for the moment by the most perfect girl on the face of the earth, she fully and completely realized that it's better to go out on top of the world than to go gently into the good night. That is why, while Luna still loved her, Sam would kill her, then herself. They would go out on top. They would burn out...not fade away.

Sam shuddered as a chill passed through her. Then, blinking back tears, she went out into the night.

* * *

The door slammed against the wall and Luan uttered a sharp cry. Cold wind rushed into the living room; the lights flickered and the picture on the TV dissolved into static. Pictures fell from the wall and a stack of papers sitting on the coffee table were sucked up in the tempest. Lori screamed in fright and Luan hugged herself. The lights blinked on and off, on and off, on and off in a disorienting strobe-light effect. One minute Luan was sure she saw something coming to her, a massive black shadow with blazing eyes, then it was gone.

With a ghostly howl, the wind died down, and the papers fluttered to the floor. Luan's heart was pounding. "What - ?" she started, but her words were cut off when Lori cried out next to her. Luan turned, and went rigid when she saw the man dragging her sister over the back of the couch by her hair. He was ten feet tall if he was an inch and as wide as a house. His face was lost in the shadow cast by the brim of his fedora, but Luan could clearly see his white, gleaming smile.

As if she weighed no more than a couple of pounds, he held Lori up by one hand and turned her face to his. She moaned. "You're not the droid I'm looking for," he said with a smile. He grabbed the front of her shirt and shoved her back: For a moment she flew through the air with a scream, then she slammed into the wall and sank limply to the floor.

The man turned to Luan, and she trembled, unable to move or scream or do anything but sit where she was. "A little birdy tells me you like jokes," he said. He started around the side of the couch, and Luan fell back against the arm, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He kicked the coffee table out of the way. " _I_ have a joke for you."

When he grabbed her by the front of her blouse, she cried out and started to thrash. _I'm going to die,_ she thought hysterically, _I'm going to die, I'm going to die, please, I don't want to die! Please!_

He held her over his head and looked up at her. "Your life." With that, he tossed her aside, and for a sickening second she watched the banister approached, then she crashed into, the spindles snapping and slashing her flesh. She was unconscious when she hit the floor.

"Like, what was _that?"_ a voice drifted down the stairs. The Man looked up just as Leni appeared. She saw him, and her face went white.

"Leni!" he said happily, and held out his hand. She cried out as her body was wrenched by an unseen force and dragged over the banister. He opened his arms, and she floated into them, her body frozen by his power. Her eyes were wide and her lips trembled. "Awww...I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "Now go to sleep."

Leni's eyelids fell closed and she went limp against him. Laughing, he dropped her onto the coffee table, which collapsed under her weight. They're such angels when they're sleeping, aren't they?

Stepping on a picture frame and crushing it under his boot, he went to the stairs and started to climb. "Hell-ooooo?" he called. "Anybody hoooooome?"


	12. Good Vs Evil

The blood drained from Lincoln's face. Luna's head whipped toward the door, her hands falling from her mouth. "What the fuck is _that?"_ she asked.

"It's him," Lucy said. Ice formed in her chest and dropped into her stomach. She glanced at Lincoln; his fingers were mindlessly counting the beads of his rosary. Lucy herself had taken to wearing a Celtic cross around her neck since her encounter with the vampire next door, but she doubted it would help. Demons were said to quote Scripture, and were not bound to quite the same rules as vampires.

Salt! She had salt in her pocket! Grabbing a handful, she rushed to the door and scattered some along the threshold. She started to back away, but then it hit her: The others were out there...probably in danger.

Damn it.

She grabbed the handle and twisted.

"Lucy!" Lincoln cried. "No!"

Heavy footfalls approached as a shadow crept along the floor. The smell of sulfur preceded it, and Lucy's nose twitched at its odor.

The footsteps stopped, and Lucy's breath caught in her throat. For a few tense moments, nothing happened, then the demon chuckled. "Why don't you...go sit down and color?"

Lucy poked her head into the hall, her heart skipping a beat when she saw him standing outside of Lola and Lana's room. Lana was before him, her neck craned and her eyes staring into his.

"I think I'll go color," Lana said robotically, then disappeared into her room. The demon took a step forward and peeked into the room. "And you...rip up all your pretty dresses."

"I'm going to rip up my dresses," Lucy heard Lola said. Her tone was flat, lifeless. The demon smiled and put his massive hands on his even more massive hips. "And when you're done...break all your tiaras. Every...last...one."

"These tiaras are wack," Lola replied. "I'm going to break them all."

"Atta girl," the demon said, then turned. An almost imperceptible shudder ran through him when his eyes locked with Lucy's. Lucy's heart stopped, and for a moment they simply looked at each other, neither one brave enough to make the first move.

"L-L-Lucy..." Lincoln stammered from behind her. He looked out into the hall; his entire body shook when he saw the demon.

"You kids forgot something," the demon said. He took his hand out of his pocket and tossed something down the hall. It landed at Lucy's feet. A tiny bottle of lotion. "You know...for when you have sex..." dark laughter rolled like artillery fire.

Lucy reacted on pure instinct: She kicked it back. "We don't need it," she said.

The demon's laughter ceased. "Of course you do," he said, taking a step forward. "How _else_ is your big brother going to fit it in?" He injected the last three words with a mocking edge.

"That's none of your business," Lucy said. Next to her, Lincoln drew back.

" _Everything's_ my business," the demon said. He took another step forward, and agony burst open inside Lucy's skull, her ears filling with a screeching whine. The demon took a quick step backwards, his body rippling like a desert mirage. He growled. "What the fuck was _that,_ you little whore?"

Lucy sucked a deep breath and steadied herself against the doorframe. She didn't know _what_ it was. She didn't do it.

The demon came forward again, and the pain returned, as did the screech. Lucy cried out and the demon yelled in furious rage. _"Stop doing that!"_

She held onto the doorframe. Lincoln came back, holding one of the bottles in his hand. Luna was frozen on the bed, her hands covering her mouth again. Lynn was still unconscious.

An idea struck her, and she pushed away from the doorframe, stumbling closer to the demon on shaky knees. Her skull filled with white agony and she dropped. The demon did likewise, falling to his knees, his hands clawing at the sides of his head. _"Ahhhh, fuck!"_

Lincoln snatched her by the back of her blouse and dragged her back into the room. "What's wrong? Are you okay? What's he doing? Lucy, talk to me!"

Lucy panted. "We're on the same psychic frequency," she said and wetted her dry lips. Lincoln's head cocked quizzically. "It's like when you have two walkie talkies and you get them too close, there's electrical interference." It must have happened when the demon tried to penetrate her mind; she either switched to his frequency or he switched to hers.

Understanding dawned in Lincoln's eyes. "I-Is that a good thing?"

"Yes," Lucy said, even though she wasn't exactly sure.

"Go get her!" the demon roared from the hall. Lincoln and Lucy looked up as Lana and Lola came into the room, their eyes hazy and faraway. "Uh-oh," Lincoln said.

Lincoln shoved past her and threw his body in-between her and them. Lana punched him in the nuts, and a leaden balloon of pain rose in his stomach. Lucy scrambled to her feet and ducked right, but Lola countered her, throwing her arms out and grasping with pink gloved fingers.

Lincoln was on his knees now, and Lana was throttling him, her teeth bared. He brought his hand around and slammed his fist against her head, but it didn't seem to faze her. Coming alive, Luna leapt off the bed with a cry and grabbed Lana by the straps of her overalls, dragging her back. "Let me go, dyke!" Lana yelled in a voice that wasn't her own.

Lola grabbed Lucy by the front of her blouse and smiled. _Sorry, sis,_ Lucy thought, then brought her fist around. It connected with Lola's nose, which burst like an overripe tomato. The girl's grip released, and she stumbled back. Borrowing a move from Lynn's playbook, she rammed the heel of her palm against Lola's face and shoved her back. The water bottle was lying near the doorway. She grabbed it, unscrewed the cap, and turned just as Lola got back to her feet, her nose gushing down the front of her dress. Her eyes flashed with the fires of hell and her gap-toothed grin widened. "If I wanted a kiss, I'd call Lincoln," she said.

Lana thrashed in Luna's arms, her hands reaching back and her thumbs seeking the older girl's soft eyes.

"In fact, I'm going to fuck him when I'm done killing you...and I won't puss out at the pain!" She threw herself forward, but Lincoln wrapped his forearm around her throat and yanked her off her feet. Lucy blinked, then remembered she was holding the water bottle. Hopefully this worked: She drew back and splashed Lola's face. Lola screamed in pain, and then went limp in Lincoln's arms.

"Some help, please!" Luna said. Lana's hand was in her mouth, pulling at her cheek. The little girl's eyes were dark, her brow furrowed in satanic hatred. "Your ass in mine, you lezzie bitch!"

Lincoln carefully laid Lola on the floor while Lucy went over to Luna. Lana's eyes widened. "Get that shit away from me!"

Instead, Lucy splashed her in the face, and she went limp just as Lola had. She slipped from Luna's arms, hit the bed, then rolled onto the floor. In the hall, the demon roared. "Luan! Leni! Lori! Now!"

Lincoln's eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

"I could barely handle Lana," Luna panted. "I don't think I can take The 3 Stooges."

Luan appeared in the doorway, her head bowed and her ponytail hanging down one shoulder. Her shoulders were hunched, her fists were balled, and an evil, metallic smile crept across her shadowed face.

"Too late," Lucy said.

"Didja hear the one about the little girl who fought the powers of darkness?" Luan asked. "She lost." Luan stepped into the room, and Lucy flung the last of the holy water at her. It splashed her face, and she went limp, falling backwards against Lori.

"That's all the holy water!" Lucy cried as Lori shoved Luan out of the way and came in. Leni followed. Both of their faces were dark.

Lincoln looked strickenly around.

"I'm gonna turn all of you into human fucking pretzels," Lori growled as she stalked forward.

"You're all _totes_ dead meat," Leni added, punching her palm.

Lori sprang toward Lucy, but Luna threw herself at the older girl, crashing into her waist with her shoulder. Lori gave out a sharp cry as she fell against Lucy's bed.

"Come here, Luce," Leni said, "I'm, like, going to show you _real_ darkness."

Thinking fast, Lucy reached into her pocket, closed her fist around a handful of salt, and brought it out. Leni snatched her by the front of her blouse and lifted her off her feet with superhuman strength. Lucy's heart shot into her throat. Lori and Luna grappled on the floor. Lincoln was pounding his fists against Leni's back. Leni's grin widened. "Say hello to Satan for me...I love His work."

Bringing her arm up, Lucy smashed her palm against Leni's face, grinding the salt in. A hideous sizzling sound filled the room, and Leni dropped Lucy into a heap, her hands coming up to her face and a scream tearing from her throat. She knocked into Lincoln, who went down, and stumbled away, bumping into the wall and bouncing back. When she turned and removed her hands from her face, Lucy gasped: Her skin was burned and blistered, long strands of it sticking to her palms like strings of gooey cheese.

Leni wailed and dropped to her knees. Lucy glanced at Lori and Luna. Lori was on top of the younger girl, her hands wrapped around her neck. Luna's arms flailed uselessly, trying to claw Lori's face, but Lori held her head back.

Lucy looked back at Leni, who was lying on her side now, her melting face covered by her hands. She was shrieking in agony. Lucy did _not_ want to do that to Lori, but even though Lincoln had his forearm around her neck, she wasn't letting go, and the fight was running out of Luna.

Taking a handful of salt, she went over to Lori and smeared it on her arm. She jumped and let out an agonized howl, her grip on Luna's neck releasing. She spun on Lucy, her eyes flashing. Panicking, Lucy grabbed more salt and threw it at Lori's chest, which began to sizzle like bacon in a pan. Lori screamed again and toppled over.

"Oh my God!" Lincoln yelled when he saw Leni. She wasn't moving and flesh seeped through her fingers like burned mashed potatoes.

The demon roared again.

It was time to end this.

And Lucy had an idea.

"Lincoln," she said, going over to him. "Bend over. I'm getting on your back."

Lincoln blinked. "What?"

" _Just do it!"_

Lincoln obeyed, and Lucy climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. "Run at him," she said, "and don't stop no matter what happens."

"Won't that hurt you?"

"Yes," Lucy said honestly, "very much, but do it." She buried her face in her brother's back and closed her eyes. She had never been able to actually harness her powers before, but she would try. She called up an image of her and Lincoln, her clinging to his back like a monkey, and imagined a psychic force field around them. She hoped to God it worked.

"Now," Lucy said.

"Lucy..."

 _"Now!"_

Lincoln rushed into the hall, and Lucy kept the image of the force field firm in her mind.

"What are you doing?" the demon asked, and Lincoln, bowing his head, began to run.

Fiery fingers of pain dug into Lucy's brain, but it wasn't as bad as it was before. It was working!

The Man With No Name fell back a step as pain filled his skull. The boy kept running.  
"Stop!" The Man roared, the pain becoming worse and worse, the electronic screeching getting louder and louder. Pressure filled his head, and it felt like his skull was going to split in half.

The girl _had_ to be in agony...near death. But still, the boy came. He wasn't going to stop.

Panicking, The Man ducked down the stairs, but the boy was right behind him. His legs went weak and he fell against the banister, which broke under his weight and spilled him onto the living room floor. He struggled to his knees, his heart blasting with terror and his head filling with psychic feedback. The boy hit the living room and turned around the newel post. The Man screamed and tried to stand, but his muscles spasmed, and boiling stomach acid spilled out of his mouth while thick, black blood burst from his nose. He could _feel_ his eyes vibrating.

The feedback swelled, and he screamed in pain.

Her eyes squeezed tight against the rising pain, Lucy clenched, and The Man wailed; his head exploded with a loud sound, and wet chunks of flesh, skull, and brain meat splattered Lincoln, Lucy, the walls, the couch, the TV, and everything else.

The knot of pain between her ears released, and she passed into unconsciousness.

* * *

Outside, Sam peered through the sliding glass door into the kitchen, her eyes blurred with tears. She took the knife out of her pocket and tried the handle.

It was unlocked.

She slipped in and closed the door behind her. She stopped and listened. She heard a commotion upstairs...sounded like yelling. Luna was probably with a gang of men right that second, kneeling as they shot their hot loads onto her face and chest.

Sam pushed that thought aside, and started for the living room, but jumped back with a cry when something crashed through the banister and slammed against the floor. It was a black, shapeless mass, and Sam's heart began to race. What the fuck?

Then it began to draw itself up, and she saw that it was a man in a hat. Lincoln appeared, his head bowed, and ran at him. The man got to his knees, and black bile shot from his mouth, landing on the floor in a stinking pool. When Lincoln got close, the man's head exploded.

At that moment, the heart pedant shattered into a million pieces, and Sam felt suddenly light-headed. She fell back against the sliding glass door and lifted her hands to her face.

It wasn't until she was three blocks away, walking aimlessly along the side of the street, that she fully came back to herself. Where was she? A memory came to her and she stopped, a puzzled look crossing her face. Luna's kitchen? Is...is that where she just was? Why?

She didn't know, and it bothered her. Was she, like, sleepwalking or something?

That would make sense. It also made sense that she would wind up at Luna's house; she _really_ liked Luna...

Three blocks south, the object of Sam's affection watched as Leni's face, which was blistered and ruined just moments ago, rapidly healed, the mangled skin knitting itself back together. Lori, who, like Leni, had lost consciousness, stirred and muttered. New skin formed over the ugly blister on her arm.

Luna dropped heavily onto the bed, her head spinning...then fainted.

In the living room, Lincoln knelt worriedly over Lucy's supine form. "Lucy!" he said, tears welling in his eyes. "Lucy!" He slapped her face. Oh, God, she was dead...or her brains were scrambled. He rocked back on his knees and buried his tearful face into his hands.

He didn't hear the sound of Lucy coughing, or feel her eyes fall on him as her head turned in his direction. "Lincoln..." she muttered.

He still did not hear her.

She laid her hand on his knee, and he jumped a foot, his face going wide with shock. Lucy couldn't help but giggle. "I still got it."

When something banged in the kitchen, she jumped _two_ feet.

"Uh...why are we locked in the basement?" Mom asked.

In a metal locker in the nurses' office at Royal Woods Middle School, Lynn Loud's urine sample bubbled and fizzed. When it was tested later that week, it came back negative for steroids. She was back on her teams the following Monday.


	13. Consummation

**Guest: Yes, Sam liked Luna all along. There was no need for the pendent in the first place. Kind of ironic, huh?**

* * *

Lincoln Loud was reading a comic when Lucy slipped into his room and shut the door behind her. It was two days before Christmas and he and Lucy had just been ungrounded by their parents; _someone_ had to take the blame for the mess in the living room. What else could they have done, told the truth? Thankfully the demon's remains evaporated, so at least they didn't have to deal with yucky black hell goo.

"Hey, Linc," she said, and Lincoln looked up from his comic. She was wearing a white T-shirt, sweatpants, and her hair up in a ponytail, just the way he liked.

A grin touched his face as he sat the comic aside. "Hey. Long time, no see."

"I know, right?" she came over and sat on the edge of the bed. Lincoln sat up too. "Every day we couldn't be together," she started, then stopped. She looked up at him. "Was an agony."

Lincoln scooted next to her and put his arm around her shoulder; she melted into him and he kissed her warm forehead. "Yeah," he sighed, "but that's over now. We can get back to normal."

"You think? In two months we've fought vampires and demons. What's next, the zombie apocalypse?"

Lincoln stiffened. "Uh...yeah, let's hope not."

Lucy shrugged. "It might be kind of fun."

Lincoln looked at her, his brows lifting. "Really?"

For a moment she thought, then shook her head. "No, no it wouldn't." She looked up at him and leaned closer. "I know what _would_ be fun, though."

Lincoln smiled. "Yeah, and what's that?"

Instead of answering, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his, her head tilting. Lincoln opened his mouth and her tongue darted coyly in, where it moved tentatively over his. His hand fluttered to the side of her neck; her pulse beat a steady and comforting tempo against his fingertips. She was healthy, and alive.

She slipped her hands under his shirt, and her nails grazed lightly up his chest, sending a delighted shiver down his spine. She pulled away, and he cupped her blushing cheek in his hand.

"Are you sure you want to try this again?" he asked.

Lucy nodded definitively. "Yes. I...I don't care if it hurts. I want to have sex with you. Tonight."

Lincoln stroked her face. "Are you sure you're sure?"

She grinned, pushed him back, then mounted him. She grabbed his shirt in her hands and leaned in until their noses were almost touching, her bangs tickling his forehead. "Yes," she said, and kissed his nose...then the corner of his mouth, then his lips again. Their tongues danced slowly, passionately, both of them enjoying the closeness of simple kissing...neither in a rush to move on. Lucy gently grazed her crotch against Lincoln's growing bulge, her essence leaking through the fabric of her pants. She kissed him deeper, her grip on his shirt tightening. Lincoln wrapped his arms around her and together they rolled, his weight pressing against her and sending jolts of sensation into her brain. She reached down and pushed her pants over her hips. The waistband rubbed against her girlhood and she moaned into Lincoln's mouth.

He reached down, grabbed the waistband, and pulled down until it was around her knees, his knuckles scraping her moist lips. She pulled one leg out first, then the other. Lincoln was between her knees, his bulge slipping between her folds and pushing against her. She threw her head back and sighed. "I want to feel you," she said.

Breathing heavy, Lincoln pulled himself out. Dank heat radiated from between his sister's legs and her smell washed over him, touching some primal nerve deep in his brain. His skin sizzled and his heart slammed. Lucy looked up at him, her eyes partially visible through her bangs. They were the most beautiful shade of blue he had ever seen.

Her chest was rising and falling, her tiny nipples poking through her shirt. Lincoln reached out and pressed the tips of his fore-and-middle fingers against one and made lazy circles on her chest. She sighed and tossed her head back, her legs unconsciously spreading even farther apart. She purred deep in her throat, and Lincoln's breath caught.

"Please," she whispered, "do it."

He took himself in his hand and guided his tip to her entrance; he shuddered as his head touched her. She jumped, and wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into his flesh. He moved his hips forward, and her body took his tip, her muscles clenching around him and her inner walls gently caressing him.

She was biting her bottom lip. "Do it, please, do it."

Lincoln took a deep breath, and jerked against her: His length pushed her apart and sank deep into her. She jerked and hissed in pain as her brother's penis ripped her veil of virginity asunder. She was filled with him to the point of bursting, his girth straining against her on every side. It was agony...but also ecstasy. She dug her nails into his back and wrapped her legs around his waist, the soles of her feet touching together. Lincoln was breathing heavily, his body trembling against her.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No," she panted. "Now make love to me."

Lincoln bent forward and kissed the side of her face, then the crook of her neck, as he began to gently rock his hips back and forth. Her body molded around him, and with every movement he roughly scraped her insides.

His lips closed on her pulse, then on her shoulder, then her earlobe. His breath was hot against her fevered skin. "I love you," he panted and thrusted into her, his head hitting her cervix. She moaned and rocked her hips in time with his. "I love you, too," she said, "I love you so much."

He threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her neck again, his lips wet and burning against her skin. She rubbed her hands down his back and found his butt. It was warm and smooth and flexed under her touch with every thrust. It didn't hurt as much now. In fact, it felt really good, the way he glided deep into her then back again, creating sweet, dizzy-headed friction.

Lincoln paused and held her face in his hands, his eyes squeezed closed and his teeth bared. His breath hitched and he trembled. "Are you cumming?" she asked, her mouth dry.

"No," he said through clenched teeth. "Almost did. Don't move."

A few moments passed, then he sank deep into her again. He pressed his cheek to hers and increased his speed. Heat filled her loins, and her breathing became quicker, shallower. She could feel her climax gathering steam in her stomach, building and swirling like a hurricane as it moved inexorably toward land. She lifted her hips into him and pressed down on his butt. "Faster," she whispered.

Still holding her face in his hands, he increased his speed, a long, low "Ahhhh," escaping his lips. Dizziness filled Lucy's head and she squeezed her legs around him. It was coming...growing...rolling forward and gathering mass like a snowball rolling downhill. Lincoln pressed his lips to her chin and thrusted deep, then he froze. "Don't move!"

But it was too late. Her orgasm ripped through her body, and her hips bucked upwards, her body taking him deep. He moaned and swelled: When he burst, Lucy bit her bottom lip to stifle the cry. Hot, sticky warmth flooded her and splashed deep into her womb, from which it spread through her body, warming her from the crown of her head to the curling tips of her toes. She clamped her legs around him and dug her nails into his back. He shook and continued pumping his seed into her well. He moaned her name and pressed his lips to hers. She would have kissed him had she been able, but she was not in control of her body: All she could do was lie back she shook with the force of her climax.

When it was over, Lincoln lay limply on top of her, his lips touching her crazily pounding pulse. He began to shrink, and pulled out of her. She could feel him leaking out, his warmth leaving her in spurts and drabs. She wanted to close her legs to keep him from escaping, to hold her in her body forever, but they were still wound around his hips. She smiled and kissed his neck. "Your sheets are probably ruined," she said.

"I don't care," he said, his voice muffled.

Lucy hugged him close, and Lincoln hugged her back. "I love you," he said.

"I love you more," she said, and she meant it. She liked to say that her heart was black and withered and dead, but it was not. It was strong and red and filled with love...more love then she could ever have imagined possible.

She looked forward to the rest of their lives together.


End file.
